Loss
by BiJane
Summary: Still affected by the losses of previous years, and by the destined, upcoming death of Dumbledore, the time travellers are again in Hogwarts, a castle victim to a creature which has suffered losses of its own. Sequel to Changes etc. Sixth Year.
1. Displaced

**Year Six of my Doctor Who/Harry Potter crossovers. This story is a little different to the others, but hopefully you'll still enjoy it.  
>In any case, a more light-hearted start. As you can probably tell, it won't last; there are still several storylines yet to be resolved, such as the masked woman, and the ghost.<br>Also, if you haven't already, I'd suggest reading Changes. It's the first of this series, and as we're nearing the end, there will be several references to the start that might not make sense otherwise. **

"2134!" the Doctor announced, with a grin like a showman, as he swung the TARDIS door wide open. A frown; "Definitely better than a boring old pirate ship."

"You're just jealous that I got the coat," Amy laughed, following the Time Lord out the box. "So, Earth still, huh?"

"Yep," the Doctor grinned, looking around. He frowned; "Cardiff again? Why here old girl?" he rested on the door, gently caressing the blue. "Well, you know best."

For a moment, Amy was sure that she heard a distant, almost smug, groan deep inside the time machine.

Amy and Rory followed the Doctor out into the crowd, wandering around and mingling in the futuristic environment. It was somehow more alien than a great many planets; still recognizably human, yet different enough to be unsettling.

It seemed that they were in some kind of shopping district. They walked on what looked like a road, yet was covered with people; the actual transport seemed to be on monorails above them. Either side of the path stood rows of booths, all with people peering out. Occasionally, a passer-by hopped inside.

"Most buying and selling stuff is done online," the Doctor narrated as they walked through the city. "Only reason these shops are here is for nostalgia. And for things where the buyer actually has to be present. Still, can't say no! I love a little shop," he frowned; "Though this was the dark era for those, until the little shop revolution of 2189."

They arrived at a split in the street; one route heading into a larger marketplace, the other leading into a metropolis; the residential block, it would seem.

Grinning, the Doctor lead them towards the marketplace, looking around at all the signs, statues and merchandise with a childlike amusement; as if he'd never seen such things before.

They passed a skyscraper; it reached up, until it touched the monorail system high above the streets.

"You're sure this is Cardiff?" Rory said, frowning

"No," the Doctor admitted. "Scanner's a little fuzzy; small temporal disturbance. We're definitely somewhere on Earth though," he frowned, "Well, in the Milky Way. Probably."

"Do you ever know where we are?" Amy rolled her eyes

"Where's the fun in that?" the Doctor flashed a contagious grin, before running off towards a booth-shop that appeared to be selling a cross between a corkscrew and a cactus.

The Ponds hesitated, waiting for the Doctor; just once, they'd like to not be completely separated. Quietly, they moved to the side of the path, nearer to the booth-shop.

"Hands?" the booth-keeper leant out; a gnarled old man, "Want any hands?"

"We uh-" Rory frowned, looking at the vendor.

Visible along the back wall of the booth-shop were actual, mechanical hands. Some gold, some silver, some humanoid, some not. One particularly bizarre one was hot pink, and had no fingers; instead, there was what looked like a light bulb in the palm. Around it were more conventional, if that word could be applied, hands; one was a fairly accurate replica of normal skin, save for the fact it was the colour of the sky, with no nails.

The booth-keeper lifted an arm, to gesture at his wares. The Ponds glimpsed the end of his wrist; it joined smoothly with one of those constructed hands; a red one, the index finger with a small laser light inbuilt, pointing directly at one of the unsettling prosthetics on the back wall.

"Um, ah-" Rory stuttered, unsure of quite how to respond to the offer without being rude

"No thanks," Amy cut in, "We've got our own hands."

"Hm," the booth-keeper peered forwards, over the counter to see their hands, "Still on the old flesh-and-blood? I'm licensed to perform the op. Come on in, we can get you fitted."

"No thanks," Amy repeated, sidling, mildly rudely, away from the salesman and his disturbing wares. Rory, gratefully, followed, instinctively massaging his own hands.

Unsettled, the couple waited again towards the sides of the path, but further away from the booths, until the Doctor came back. The Time Lord now wore a bizarre contraption on his head.

Imagine a corkscrew. Then give it two cactus arms, add a few prickles, a tassel, and take away the screw itself. It wouldn't quite do justice to the weirdness of the new hat, but it was as close as any sane mind would want to come to comprehending the disaster.

"I think I preferred the fez," Amy murmured faintly.

"Oy! Don't knock the hats," the Doctor patted the…_thing_. "So, what were you two up to, see anything you like? I hear they make really nice pizza this year."

"Doctor," Rory said, tentative. "I think someone was trying to sell us robotic hands."

"Oh, a hand merchant," the Doctor grinned. "Almost forgot those! See anything you like? Met a rather nice man a while ago, replaced his hands with feet, and his feet with hands. And his head-" the Time Lord paused, just in tiem for Amy to interrupt.

"Hang on, _what_?"

"Didn't I say?" the Doctor frowned, "Sorry. It's all the rage for this decade, people lose their hands, and get mechanical replacements, for style."  
>"They chop of their hands?" Rory said, disbelieving. "That's-"<p>

"Oh, humans," the Doctor rolled his eyes. "It's really not that different to your time; by then they're already jabbing their way through ears, mouths, eyebrows," he winced, "Other places. So-"

The Doctor hesitated mid-rant, eyes focused on something behind the Ponds. Confused, Amy and Rory followed his gaze.

A pale blonde walked up to them; she was about fifteen, and dressed in mystical black robes. The girl walked past them, stopping only to nod once, distracted, giving no sign of any major concern.

"Hello Doctor, hello Amy, hello Rory," she smiled, before walking onwards.

A pause; the trio of time travellers looked at each other.

"I- um, don't mean to be stupid, but was that-" Rory began

"Well don't say anything," the Doctor interrupted, pleased with himself for being so helpful.

"Was that Luna?" Amy said, taking up her husband's words.

"Yep," the Doctor nodded, "Luna Lovegood, fifth year at Hogwarts about, ooh, over a century ago." He frowned. "Hang on," the Time Lord span around.

Seconds later, the trio were running after the student, as she wandered through the street; casually pacing in a time over a century beyond her own. They caught up with the blonde at a fork in the road.

"Hello Luna," the Doctor grinned, hopping up to the student. "So, do you know where you are?"

"Probably the future," Luna observed, detached. "It doesn't look much like Hogwarts, does it?"

"Not really," the Doctor fell into stride next to the Ravenclaw, "I don't suppose you know how you got here?"

"No," Luna sighed. "I expect it's just a Dual-Tailed-Moroff. They can send people through time, you know."

"Really?" the Doctor seemed interested. "Well, do you want to get back?"

"Ok," Luna frowned, "Have you found the Moroff?"

"Something like that," the Time Lord flashed a grin.

Luna Lovegood followed the trio of time travellers, back through the wide streets, keeping away from the booths, until they reached the familiar, comforting shape of a blue police box. The Doctor clicked his fingers; slowly, the doors swung open.

Dreamily, Luna wandered into the TARDIS; she didn't look around, didn't even gasp as she beheld the impossible interior dimensions. Quietly, keeping to herself, she walked up to the central console.

Disappointed somewhat at the lack of a reaction, the Doctor leapt around the central console, flourishing madly. The TARDIS began to wheeze and groan.

"Right," the Doctor jumped on the spot, "Which date did you come from?"

"October 5th," Luna said. She frowned, looking around at the TARDIS, for the first time, before continuing; "1996."

"Thank you," the Doctor clapped his hands, and hit one more button.

The time machine juddered to a halt.

Broadly grinning, the Doctor sprinted up to the doors, and leapt out. A split second later, he grabbed hold of the hinge, and pulled himself back in. Outside was empty space.

"Yeah, that sometimes happens," he mumbled, "Orbital fluctuations. We're on the-" he stopped, staring out the door. The Earth, whirling in its orbit around the Sun, was coming straight for them.

"This is what happens if you arrive a few minutes early," the Doctor rolled his eyes, muttering to himself. "Temporal waves; vortex is a little choppy. One sec."

As the TARDIS started to shake, entering the atmosphere of the oncoming planet, the Doctor yanked a lever down. A groaning; and the TARDIS materialized once more.

Tentative this time, the Doctor peered out the door, one hand resting on the _thing_ he wore on his head (Amy refused to grace it with the title 'hat').

They were in Hogwarts; just with a small problem. They were precariously balanced on the top of one of the towers; leaving them with an awe-inspiring view combined with a staggering drop.

"A little turbulence," the Doctor admitted, still staring out the door. "We're close though! Within a few hours, and a few metres. On the grand scale of things…" his voice trailed off.

He span around, looking at the trio of humans; Luna, Amy and Rory. A spark glinted in his eyes, and he grinned. Amy knew that look; her stomach plummeted.

"Back in a sec," he grinned, before taking a short jump out the door.

"Does he have a broomstick?" Luna remarked conversationally. "Or maybe a Fizzing Whiz bee."

"He'd better," Amy muttered.

Outside the TARDIS, the Time Lord was desperately clinging onto a window ledge atop the huge tower, gratefully still in possession of his cactus/corkscrew 'hat'. Straining, he lifted his head up, staring into the window.

Dumbledore looked down at him; bemused.

Several minutes later, the Doctor had been pulled into the Office, and a quick spell had levitated the TARDIS to a courtyard far below. The Time Lord stayed with Dumbledore, in the headmaster's office, as they waited for the trio to climb up to them.

"You ok?" the Doctor struck up a chat.

"As well as can be expected," the headmaster lifted up a withered hand, caught in the thrall of a ring.

"Horcrux," the Doctor murmured, "No, forget I said that. You find it out later. So, anyone complained about the last two years?"

"Fortunately, your friend Rory was a truly impressive replacement while I was…indisposed," Dumbledore nodded thanks; "I trust the Voice will no longer prey upon the castle?"

"Nope, tricky little thing's in here," the Doctor tapped his forehead. "Currently listening to part of me give awful fashion advice," he scratched his cactus/corkscrew hat. "So, everything fine here?"

"Doctor," Albus met the Doctor's eyes, changing the subject in resolute tones, "I doubt you landed on my roof for purely social reasons."

"No, well, kinda. Met Luna in the twenty second century, felt like she should be returned," the Doctor shrugged. "She's back now, even if time's been a little wrecked around this year. Quite hard to land properly."

"Ah," Dumbledore paused, "Do you know how she happened to come into the later century?"

"Well…no," the Doctor frowned. "Have you heard of the Dual-Tailed-Moroff? That might be to blame."

"It would be too much to ask, for a genuine answer," the headmaster sighed. "I assume you will once more be staying for the year?"

"Yeah…sorry," the Doctor gave a guilty smile.

On their way through the corridors, outside the Office, Amy Rory and Luna wandered past relatively sparsely packed groups of students. They seemed somehow more withdrawn, less active than such students generally were.

Not surprising; given recent events. Voldemort's confirmed return, and the death of one of the students, Ginny. One thing that few students wanted to know, was their own mortality: and with the untimely demise of Ginny, that fact was all too clear.

"Ooh, Draco," Amy said suddenly, thinking. "Give me a moment," the redhead walked away from Rory and Luna, gesturing for them to continue. Her words could just be heard, before they walked too far away; "Just who I wanted to see…"

Amy caught up with the other two, a little while later; just outside the gargoyle that lead to Dumbledore's Office. As they arrived, the statue lowered, bringing Dumbledore and the Doctor with it.

The Time Lord took a long stride forwards, grinning. He seemed about to speak, when another cry rang out:

"_Reducto!_"

A jet of light; the cactus/corkscrew on the Doctor's head fell away, obliterated to dust, fragments of the _thing_ touching the stone ground.

The Doctor patted his own unruly hair, aghast at the loss of the recently acquired headgear. He looked around; eyes focusing on a distant, brief blur of blonde in the distance.

"Thank you Draco," Amy muttered to herself, smiling.


	2. Visitors

**Here's the next chapter. An introduction to the rest of the story; this could be quite an emotional one, just to warn you, and so fairly different from the previous instalment, but hopefully you'll still like it.  
>And enjoy the end of the chapter! <strong>

Harry stood alone in the Room of Requirement. He remembered this place; last year. This was where he'd been with Ginny.

Alone; the silence, the comfort of closeness. When they'd kissed, when they'd admitted their love. Her vibrant red hair, her pale skin. Unforgettable.

The Boy Who Lived stood alone in the Room, large, empty, desolate. A pristine mirror stood just in front of him.

Called from his memories, and projected by the Room, he could see Ginny there; instead of his own reflection. The woman smiled; Harry couldn't help but smile back. He rested his hand on the glass, feeling an echo of her touch in the reflection.

_Bye_.

A distant whisper, her voice, so weak, resounded in the Room.

Harry looked away from the glass, a tear in his eye. He could do nothing without thinking of her: and should he try to force her image, her memory out of his mind, it felt like the blackest blasphemy.

He did not want to forget her; yet he couldn't live while remembering her.

Silent, the student walked over the hard floor, to the Room's entrance. He pushed it open, inviting any of the DA to enter. Teach themselves perhaps; or maybe they could teach him how to bear it.

Even knowing his parents had died did not compare to this. He hardly knew them. But, oh, Harry knew Ginny. Knew her well enough to know she was utterly unforgettable.

They'd had several other DA meetings earlier this year. Despite a few awkward moments near the start, they'd fallen into a kind of secondary routine; they'd come in, take some free advice from Harry if he was able/willing to talk, and practise amongst themselves. Neville had become a sort of substitute teacher. Not that Harry minded. He didn't mind anything. Not now.

The teachers were worried about him; it would be impossible not to notice that. They watched him, not making any clear signs of interference, yet still being just that little bit too distant. Suspicious.

Dumbledore was his greatest comfort. The headmaster had called for several meetings, mostly about Voldemort, delving into the Dark Lord's past.

Harry did not feel rage thinking of the Dark Wizard. Only sadness. He should be angry; logic seemed to dictate that. It was Voldemort who'd killed Ginny. But thinking of those slit eyes, that pale, skeletal face… He felt nothing but the urge to fall to his knees and cry.

Yet in several of those meetings, they did nothing. Just sat there in silence, Dumbledore knowing Harry would be unable to do anything. The sadness came in phases, times it was bearable, and times it was a struggle even to stand.

He needed something; not someone, never someone again: but something. Something to do, something to focus on. A challenge? Maybe, or maybe just something to distract him. Or something to help.

Still silent, the black haired boy looked around, taking in the practising DA. Neville, as always, was leading them; assisted by the ever-dreamy Luna.

The DA was his family, to a point. Not as close as he was to Ginny; but still a connection. He cared about them; and they definitely seemed to care about him, enough to leave him alone with his feelings, when he was like this. So maybe he could help them.

And of course, there was another that deserved help. It wouldn't be easy to start with, not by a long way, but there was certainly one more thing that he could do.

It looked like the DA would be getting one more member.

O

Luna wandered through the statues of Hogwarts. On one side, tall, powerful, stood a stone wizard casting the first Patronus; a formless block of stone. She drifted below the arch of stone, beyond into a museum of sorts, populated by several impressive, painstakingly carved (or alternatively, magicked up, it was hard to say) creations.

Several minutes later, she walked out of the eerie section, and almost bumped her head on a green, buzzing light, one attached to a silver tube and held by a certain Time Lord.

"Hello Doctor," Luna said lightly. "Could you stop buzzing me?" It wasn't a command, merely a dreamy observation

"Right, well," the Doctor flicked the sonic screwdriver with his free hand, "Ok. That's the place you went through before ending up in 2143?"

"Yes," the blonde paused, "It wasn't as dark then."

That much was true. Luna could remember happily walking amongst the statues last time, examining the detail in the stone and looking for any 'misplaced' hats and belongings of hers. This time it was a struggle to see the creations, something blocking out the light.

"Rule of the universe," the Doctor shrugged, grinning; "No matter what planet, time zone, or dimension you're in, every time you go into a forbidding place, it's _always_ dark. Although this time it looks as if someone blocked the windows, but it could mean the same thing."

"Why would someone block a window?" Luna voiced the Doctor's thoughts. She wasn't overly worried about the answer, she just felt the conversation wouldn't be complete without someone saying it.

"I dunno," the Doctor grinned, "Exciting, isn't it? Something that doesn't want to be seen."

He didn't notice the eyes in the room, adjusted to the darkness, and glaring at the Doctor with something as close to pure hatred as could be achieved by any race. A soulless stare, imagining a thousand, a million ways for him to die.

And it remembered. Not its meeting with the Doctor, but a confrontation, much more recently.

"_Give it a student, Lord," a woman's voice. It stared, unable to move, at that masked face. _

"_Very well, Bella," an exhalation; high, cruel. A pale, thin figure. _

_Then a child, a First Year at Hogwarts, stumbled out of a flash of blue; just in front of the creature. The child looked up; suddenly desperately afraid. An instant later, the creature, ravenous, desperate, was upon the First Year. _

"_Release me," the creature then spoke, looking up from the now lifeless child. _

_Just metres away, some kind of force-field lay; perhaps a magical shield. The creature was unable to break through it. _

"_Release you/" a laugh from the woman. "_Crucio_!" _

_A burst of agony ripped through the utterly unprepared creature. It had never felt pain before: and now it was subjected to torment unbearable to the most trained human. It couldn't even scream. _

_Eternities later, the burning ceased. _

"_Now Bella," the high-pitched voice spoke, "We would not want our…guest to feel unwelcome. We simply wish a service done that she would happily perform herself, do we not?"_

_The creature felt the urge to distrust this stranger. Their high voice gave no real emotion at all, just the sensation of one who played games, who played other people, used them and discarded them like tools. _

_Yet the level of that all-consuming, new pain. It moved the creature beyond anger, and well into fear. Into terror. _

_And on that threshold, she saw it again: her husband dying, in the cold, merciless gaze of one who, at times, seemed at least as heartless as the pale man before her now. _

_Their eyes did not meet, yet the creature felt the pale man's glare. _

"_We will release you," the words seemed strange in the man's mouth, "To Hogwarts, where you will obey us. Hunt down and kill one man, and you will go free," his voice was little more than a whisper. "Otherwise you will find yourself in the company of dear Bella once more."_

_Silence. The creature did not move; could not. She could simply listen, and take in the commands. _

"_We want you to kill the Doctor."_

And so, she was here. Hogwarts; now staring at the man she was to kill. The man who-

And she couldn't. It felt wrong, it felt all too wrong. She'd seen that man kill: yet as he stood now, with the childish grin, the bow tie, the tousled hair…

How could they possibly be the same person? It was hard to believe.

With every reason to be angry at the alien, and easily with the power to claim his life, the creature found herself turning away. The same frustration brimmed in her as before; and she could see just one way out of the dilemma.

Kill the Doctor, or face the masked woman's torturous whims. Why was she struggling with that choice?

There was one other way out; but she didn't want to consider it. Instead, she promised herself. Next time. Next time, she would kill the Doctor.

O

Draco Malfoy sat alone. Especially now.

He'd been taught Occlumency last year. It had no doubt saved his life on many occasions since then: leaving his head with such an ache it felt as if it would split open.

The blonde had seen the Dark Lord himself, and looked into those inhuman eyes.

Looking around, making sure he was alone, the Slytherin lifted his arm, and slid the robe down, baring pale skin. A black brand rested resplendent there.

A skull; a serpent. The Dark Mark. Sign of a Death Eater.

A taint; he couldn't get rid of it. He was tainted. Poisoned. Irritated, he rubbed his other hand over the black brand: it soon turned to a feverish scratching, as if trying to scrape the skin off the bone, trying to remove the Mark.

The skin behind it went red; yet the mark was still there, burnt, resolute.

For a few seconds, Draco contemplated getting his wand out, and trying curse upon curse on the taint. He didn't; if his wand brushed the darkness, the Dark Lord himself would feel the call.

Rolling his eyes back, Draco slumped on his chair. Seconds later, a grinning face entered his view; the blonde quickly got up.

"Hello Draco," the Doctor grinned

"Hi sir," the Slytherin quickly said, hastily covering up his arm.

"Oh, no need to do that," the Time Lord shrugged, gesturing to the blonde's arm, "You're a Death Eater now, no big deal. Well, I suppose it is, still, Hakuna Matata!" the Doctor grinned, before hesitating, "Why is it I always end up quoting the Lion King?"

Draco paused, unsure of quite how to respond.

"Oh yeah," the Doctor nodded; "Dumbledore said he wants to speak to you. See him after Potions. It's probably about how old Tom wants you to warp loads of Death Eaters into Hogwarts via vanishing cabinet. Nothing major. Chop, chop!"

Malfoy paused, again with no clue how to respond. The Doctor was a walking of contradictions; one moment, he was a bumbling idiot acting less intelligent than several First Years: the next, he could say pretty much everything going on in his mind with startling accuracy.

Nervous, Draco nodded a few times, before standing, walking away.

The Doctor grinned, sitting down on Draco's vacated seat. He waited there a few seconds, thinking, before swinging back to his feet.

The Time Lord wandered out, through the corridors. There was something, possibly natural, most likely not, that forced Luna into the far future; and drenched her in temporal potential energy in doing so.

Things that could cause that? The Doctor frowned.

Compressed time locales, a 'time spring' (equipment from Galifrey which pushed things through time), an accelerator, him on a bad day, a sufficiently spicy curry, a Time Lord, a very confused chronovore, a time scoop, or Super-Man.

All of those seemed unlikely. Perhaps it could have been the masked woman, Bellatrix, taking them through time; yet in that case, though it sounded cold, the Doctor couldn't believe Luna would have survived.

The Time Lord stopped outside, resting on a towering spire, thinking. It was a short time until he noticed the woman approaching him.

"Hello," the Doctor span around; "Trelawney, isn't it?" He grinned, surprised at seeing the divination teacher here

"Thank you," the seer spoke, nervous. "I am- not at all used to leaving my room, alas, the Inner Eye does command it."

"Really," the Doctor was suddenly interested; while he was never a great fan of predicting the future, he respected time and its majesty, and so was intrigued by Trelawney's message 'from the future'. "What is it? Bow tie sale, fez shop…"

"It is," the seer coughed, "This is most irregular, um."

Sybil Trelawney hesitated for a moment, shy; it wasn't often she had to report such messages.

Then, abashed, she repeated what she'd seen. "Well, the message was 'Hello Sweetie.'"

The Doctor blinked; and his face broke into a grin.

The Time Lord shook the teacher's hand, gracious, before whirling around and running towards the Entrance Hall. Feet pounded on the stone.

It was Hogwarts; a castle, and the one way you always came in to any such installation, especially one as heavily guarded as this place with Voldemort on the loose, was through the front door.

The Time Lord stopped, right by the huge gates. Time passed. He waited where he was.

He wasn't sure quite what he was so looking forward to. Was it the aggravation, the knowledge, or just…her? Or was it the sense of a kindred spirit; out of time, and utterly mischievous?

Well, whatever it was, she was late.

Amy wandered into the room, frowning as she caught sight of the Time Lord.

"Hiya," she waved, "Rory's off looking for his ghost. Reckons that'll be some way to figure out what's going on. Anyway, why are you here?"

The Doctor paused. Of course, he could tell her, but it would probably be best not to. If _she _didn't show, then it'd be a waste of time; and in any case, it would be best to avoid Amy's jibes.

In any case, it looked like he wouldn't have to answer.

Right in the middle of the hall, a light gradually flared up, and faded away.

A certain, mildly tanned, blonde doctor stepped out of it, catching the Doctor's eye. A quirky smile; "Hello sweetie," she echoed Trelawney's prediction.

"Doctor Song," the Time Lord inclined his head

"River!" Amy rolled her eyes, "Could've done with your hat-shooting expertise earlier."

"My what?" River Song frowned

"Wait, Amy," the Time Lord extended a hand, "How far are we? Have we done Stonehenge, or America yet?"

"Which Stonehenge?" River frowned, whipping out the blue book, "Which America for that matter? I've done the rather fun trip to DH Lawrence."

"Nope," the Doctor covered his ears with his hands, "Haven't done that. Amy, no spoilers!"

The time travelling lady frowned, looking from redhead to Time Lord; she frowned, focusing on Amy.

"Is hoot his hats, huh?" she raised her eyebrows, "Please don't tell me he was wearing that god-awful cactus-thing again."

"He wore it before?" Amy said, disbelievingly

"Yeah," River laughed, "Bought several in the twenty second century."

"It's a good hat!" the Doctor protested, cutting in. River span around

"It was a cheese grater!" she threw her hands into the air, "Not a hat!"

"Yeah, well," the Doctor remarked after several quiet seconds, straightening his bow tie. "I knew that." More seconds of silence; "Cheese graters are cool."

"Not as hats!" River rolled her eyes despairingly.


	3. Nameless

**This is mainly a thoughtful chapter, with a few hints. Still, nothing major. Hopefully you enjoyed River's arrival last chapter, I've had enough hints that she's been to Hogwarts in previous stories, I'm just going all the way in this one.  
>Anyway, enjoy! <strong>

"Draco," Albus Dumbledore spoke, looking over his desk at the Slytherin. "I sense there is something you wish to tell me?"

The blonde sat in the headmaster's office, unsure, nervous. It wasn't that Dumbledore was intimidating, far from it, the teacher was the essence of friendliness, it was just the sensation that he knew an awful lot more than he should. A bit like the Doctor in that regard.

The Slytherin had come to the office, as per summons, and aside from the basic pleasantries, nothing major had been said.

Save for that one question. Draco had no idea how to answer it: sure, there were several things he should say, but none he wished to.

"No," Malfoy said, after a few, hesitant seconds. "No sir, nothing."

Blue eyes watched the blonde. Then Dumbledore nodded his head once.

"Indeed," Dumbledore murmured, pausing, "Very well. Farewell," the aging wizard raised an elderly hand, in a calm gesture.

Draco didn't move; that was it? He felt as if he'd failed some test, he felt guilty, even. Dumbledore had called him here; evidently the headmaster knew Malfoy was hiding something. And, well, he was. The Dark Mark prickled; an unwelcome reminder of the lie, and the Dark Lord.

"Well," the blonde said after several, quiet seconds. "There's one thing."

And then, with no way to articulate what he felt, Draco extended his arm. Uncaring of the consequences, he pulled the black robe back, exposing pale flesh, and the brand: a skull, a serpent. The sign of Voldemort: the sign of a Death Eater. His arm fell to the desk like a dead weight.

Dumbledore regarded the taint, suddenly withdrawn. His breathing was almost imperceptibly different; slower. His voice could just be heard, a quiet murmur to himself:

"At the times I think Tom could not sink any lower… a _child_ now." Albus was silent for half a minute: yet it felt like so much longer.

Lord Voldemort could never fail to horrify. He had murdered Ginny last year, and now converted a student of Hogwarts, and pressed them to join his Death Eaters. At times the headmaster found himself doubting the fact Lord Voldemort had once been the quiet boy he'd seen in the orphanage.

It was then Dumbledore remembered what he'd seen in the books; the upcoming event, which Draco had been charged with completing.

"Ah, yes," the headmaster spoke once he could trust himself to speak levelly. "And I take it you have been instructed to take the life of one in this school. A teacher perhaps," he hesitated, "A head teacher maybe."

Draco again was silent, unnerved by the prediction. The Slytherin uncomfortably pulled his arm back, covering the taint.

"_Albus Dumbledore," a hiss; the Dark Lord seemed so much like the snakes he favoured. "He has been a thorn in my side for too long. Draco: it will be your task to dispose of him_."

Unwillingly, the blonde shivered at the memory alone. The thought of the Dark Lord seemed almost as menacing as the wizard himself.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, tentative. "I won't."

"It does not matter," Albus replied, open, "I find myself already dying." The headmaster placed a black, withered hand on the table.

Malfoy instinctively inched back; afraid, repulsed by the infection spread up Dumbledore's arm. That ring too; a small, gemstone ring on his hand, it radiated…something, and the skin seemed especially blackened at that point.

"I-" the Slytherin could say nothing. Even though recent events had adapted him to such grim, gruesome ideas, the actuality of it; the apparently lethal growth on the headmaster, was far beyond such theory.

He couldn't tear his eyes from the withered flesh. Wrinkled skin, now turning to something that would be ash if it was not so well held-together. As if the hand simply forgot it was part of a living human.

"So you see," Dumbledore moved the withered hand, palm-up, "Obeying Tom in this respect would be no crime." Albus paused; noticing Malfoy's evident discomfort. "Think on it," the headmaster concluded.

Hearing the hints within the headmaster's tone, Draco stood after a few, still moments. Seeing no other reaction, Malfoy gratefully left the room: with much to think about.

Dumbledore pulled his arm back, concealing the ringed hand beneath the desk once more.

The headmaster waited there. He explored his thoughts: at times like this, he would often delve into the Pensieve, yet now he felt a desire more for relaxation. And so, the wizard sat where he was.

Perhaps Draco would carry out his task: perhaps not. Unknown: but in any case, he knew the future which would come to pass, regardless.

This was the year Albus Dumbledore died.

It was a strangely serene experience; knowing the date of your own death. Enough time to set things in order, and to have a few days of safety, so long as you did nothing too unusual.

Mad-Eye Moody entered the Office, with a characteristic thumping of a wooden leg. The headmaster opened his eyes, looking calmly into the magical eye and natural eye of the Auror.

"`Dung," Moody muttered gruffly. "It's Mundungus."

"And what has Mr Fletcher done this time?" Dumbledore spoke; eye twinkling. That sparkle of amusement was soon extinguished.

"Died," Moody grunted, "About bloody time. Last I heard, he was trying to pawn off some locket in Diagon Alley. Disapparated when I caught up with him; but I caught a glimpse of his killer."

"Who would this be?" a strangely harsh edge to the headmaster's voice.

"Our old friend," sarcasm from Moody, "The woman in the mask."

O

River was enjoying exploring Hogwarts: the magical castle, full of wonders and miracles. While none compared to some of the things she's seen with the Doctor, there was something enchanting about seeing what was genuine, well, enchantment. And that was something that could only really be seen in this era, in this school: later witches and wizards were more adapted to the need to hide, especially after the Second Wizarding War.

It was the curse of time travel, she reflected: the knowledge. In about a century's time, these staircases would stop moving, and all the magic images would be moved away, to more disguised locations.

The greatest of empires and schools fell to the tick of the clock.

"Oh, hello Snape," she smiled as she bumped into the Potions Master during her meandering. "Whipping up any drinks?"

"Doctor Song," Severus said stiffly, remembering the woman from his youth in Hogwarts. He didn't care how she still looked the same, "Potion making is an exact science. Now if you'll excuse me-"

"I don't doubt it," River was laughing behind her eyes as she stepped back to let Snape move past. "Ask if you want any of my recipes!"

The greasy-haired teacher didn't reply. River didn't expect it; amused, she continued walking down the corridor.

A Third Year Hufflepuff student had gone missing about two days after River's arrival. As soon as she arrived in Hogwarts, she was able to give the Doctor the student's time/space coordinates.

Why else had she come to Hogwarts? It had caused quite a stir in her prison: a wizard, a child garbed in all those robes, appearing right in the centre of the corridor. Hearing of the strangeness in this year, in the castle, she just knew that a certain Time Lord would be here.

She'd escaped easily: sometimes she thought the guards were there for her fun.

Whatever the case, the Doctor had quickly picked up the Hufflepuff, and taken them back to Hogwarts.

There had been the occasional disappearance: Luna, the Hufflepuff, and a young Gryffindor. While the first two had been found and returned, the latter was still lost; apparently anywhere in time and space.

Whatever had caused it; that was what she searched for.

"River Song," a voice from the shadows; the woman turned, looking into the darkness.

It was a child's voice, unmistakably. Very young, perhaps a First Year. A girl perhaps, yet young enough so it was hard to tell from voice alone.

"Don't come any closer," scared; very scared. River stopped in her instinctive movement towards the speaker.

"Ok," River replied, relishing the event while tense, wondering what was going on. Testing the water, she spoke next: "What do you want?"

Silence. Perhaps it was unsure? Doctor Song was about to prompt again, when the child's voice again came out of the darkness.

"You and the Doctor," the child changed the subject. River noted some kind of strain in her voice; an illness?

"Yes," River said as the silence after the statement dragged on.

"How close are you?" it was a few seconds until the child spoke

"I can't tell you everything," a smirk, "You're too young."

"Are you…married?" the child seemed strangely hesitant.

"Spoilers," another smirk; River placed a finger on her lips. "There's a blue box that might get jealous."

"You sound close enough," again, a long pause before the child spoke.

"You could say that," River said after a little while, sober, thoughtful. "He's a good kisser, at least when he stops waving his arms around like a windmill."

"Kiss," the word was drawn out, like a breeze; the child's voice seemed strangely forlorn at the thought of such intimacy.

River frowned as she looked into the darkness; whoever the child was, they'd chosen their location well, assuming that they didn't want to be seen. There was next to no light down that corridor; rendering the speaker unseen.

The strangely unsettling child was silent for quite some time. Then, after several seconds, longer than its normal pauses between speech, it spoke.

"And if you lost him?" Like much of its words, the child sounded almost emotionless; with only the barest traces of feeling.

"Excuse me?" River's eyes flashed dangerously. Was it making a threat? It was worrying, hearing such statements from such a young girl's voice.

"If you lost him," the voice from the darkness came quickly this time. "What then?"

"I wouldn't lose him," River replied firmly, after some contemplative seconds. She made a move; the beginnings of a step into the darkness, towards the young girl.

"Don't come closer!" Traces of feeling in her voice again; fear. The child was afraid.

"I'm sorry, I-" River hesitated again. She felt a sudden, inexplicable, pang of guilt.

Silence again. The time travelling Doctor Song cautiously took a step back; away from the darkness.

"What would you do?" the child's voice sounded again; it now sounded on the verge of pleading.

"I don't know!" River finally snapped, shouting. It was true; she couldn't imagine losing the Doctor. She was too young; before the visit to America, before the destruction of Hogwarts caused by Harry's death, and averted by Ginny's.

There are some things the mind can't comprehend. This seemed to be one of them.

There was silence after her cry; the voice from the darkness had nothing to say. Neither did River; instead, the prisoner was thinking. What would she really do, if the Doctor died? Stop it, unquestionably.

"River," the young girl's voice again came from the darkness. It seemed to struggle saying the name; another trace of the inexplicable strain in the child's voice.

"Yes?" Doctor Song responded, guarded.

Seconds ticked past.

"Tell your Doctor one thing," there was an unknown emotion present in the otherwise soulless voice. The child hesitated; and then the young girl's voice continued: "Tell him," a pause. River was about to speak again, prompting a continuation, when the young girl's voice continued from in the darkness; "Tell him I'm better than him."

A pause; the adult woman called out a question, yet the child in the darkness didn't respond. After waiting a short time, making sure it wasn't simply the unsettling, normal delay, River walked into the shadow.

Unlike her other attempts, the young girl did not resist; she said nothing. The reason for that was only discovered as River entered the darkness.

Nothing was there. Whatever had spoken, whether it be the child or something else, was gone. Fled.

O

Fred and George had 'borrowed' the Marauder's Map from Harry: in the sense, they'd replaced it with a scrap of parchment which, when activated like the Map, would say 'The Map you are seeking is currently unavailable. Please try again later.' It was easy; they were in the same dormitory after all.

It was common practise. They gave the Map back after every excursion; it was just nice to hold the familiar parchment in their hands, as well as to be able to watch every being in the castle.

Night. They concealed themselves in a secret alcove, watching Filch pass them on the Map.

"What's that?" Fred whispered, pointing at a spot on the Map

"A dot," George responded, ever-sarcastic.

It was quite an oddity; a blotch on the Map, with no name attached, just a plain mark, unlabelled. They'd seen the Doctor give off a similar effect, they still didn't know why, but this dot seemed somehow different. Instead of just being a trail of footprints, it was a blob of ink which fluctuated; hinting that the Map was trying to find a name, just struggling.

It was on the third floor, roughly the same place Fluffy had been in the first year, if what they heard was accurate.

"Let's check it out," the twins said to each other, at the exact same time; both grinned.

Filch passed them. They hopped out the alcove, watching the Map, and began to head towards the oddity.

The corridors were strangely eerie at night. Hogwarts wasn't like other schools; harm was likely, all the safety protocols in the world wouldn't prevail against wizards, or magical creatures.

As such, there was a genuine cause for nervousness in the dark. Who knew what lurked just around the corner, especially in these days, with the return of Voldemort?

Technically the twins really shouldn't be at Hogwarts. Equally technically, they'd never paid attention to the rules; besides, Ron was here. The Weasley family were close, especially now, after Ginny's death. They made sure to keep together; besides, Fred and George had customers in Hogwarts. It was a lot easier to sell things to the students when the buyers didn't have to go all the way to Diagon Alley. Ron was the one who had the idea, come to think of it: the customers sent an owl to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with a request, and Fred and George flew or Floo their way to the castle and delivered what was requested.

Well, that was their excuse. Actually, they wanted to look around the familiar walls of Hogwarts again. Even with all the defences against Voldemort, nothing could ever keep the twins out.

They ascended the swinging stairs to the Third Floor, pausing just by the wall. The anomaly on the Map was just inside; they paused, unsure of what they'd find. It might be dangerous.

Oh, who cared? Both of them came to that realization in the same instant, lifting up the Map an instant before they went to enter the chamber.

Once Fluffy stood in that room. Hopefully the three-headed dog wasn't back.

"Wait," Fred extended a hand, grabbing George's shoulder before the latter could open the door.

"Huh?" the redhead turned to look at his brother; Fred lifted the Map up, turning it around to show the scrawls.

The blotch had been given a seemingly reluctant label: _Nameless_. Instead of supplying nothing, or finding an answer, the Marauder's Map appeared to have determined that the creature referred to by the blot, in fact had no name.

It was unsettling. But not as unsettling as the next few seconds.

The inky writing on the parchment erased itself; and a few seconds later, was replaced by a stylish few words.

_Hello sweeties. You really don't want to go in that room. Show this to the Doctor._

_Doctor River Song_

The twins hesitated; George released the handle of the door, curiosity now pointed away from the 'Nameless' blot. Instead, he wondered who this 'River Song' was, and how she was connected to the map. He was about to voice his thoughts when, in a stylish calligraphy, one more word appeared.

_Spoilers._


	4. Feed

**Hello again! Sorry this update took so long, I've been very distracted. Next update might take a little time too, sorry. Anyway, enjoy!  
>Small nod to the canon events in this chapter, and I'm hastily rewriting a later bit in light of the series. The Moff is utterly brilliant. Just going to say that now. <strong>

Why was he doing this? Draco sighed. He didn't want to be here; he was completely out of place.

Yet Harry had insisted, and for some unknown reason, the blonde had agreed. The DA waited beyond the door. Why was it such a struggle to go through?

Well, it would be a fine irony. A Death Eater joining Dumbledore's Army. Somehow though, Draco couldn't find it in himself to be completely opposed to the idea. Well, not opposed enough to refuse.

The facts were, it might actually turn out well. As long as he didn't get hexed as soon as he stepped in there, that was. So, it could go either way; the blonde was hardly popular with the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students in the Room. Especially given his father's arrest last year.

Harry's voice could just be heard beyond the door; informing the DA of a new member, and how they shouldn't react immediately, they should wait to see how worthwhile the member was. Laying it on a bit thick, if Draco was any judge. With that much said before his arrival, everyone would be expecting the worst.

If only they knew; Draco permitted himself a brief, bitter smile. Even Harry didn't know of the Dark Mark branded on his fore-arm. If they knew that, their opinions would no doubt change an awful lot.

Malfoy heard his cue; Harry calling out for him to enter. Inhaling, tense, the blonde walked into the room.

Instant silence. Stares; Draco could feel them, piercing.

"Is this some kind of a joke?" Dean Thomas, if Draco's memory of voices was correct.

Draco rolled his eyes; he flashed a look at Harry. _I told you so_. He couldn't bring himself to walk out however. Bear the sneers.

"Now," it was Ron who spoke; "Harry's probably just-" the redhead hesitated. Then, he turned to face the Boy Who Lived; "Actually, Dean's right, is this a joke?"

"No, no," Harry shook his head, voice strangely breathless, possibly from excitement, possibly from some form of embarrassment. The whole DA was looking at him like he was mad. A part of him wished he'd taken the _Felix_ potion. "It's a great idea-"

"The son of a Death Eater?" Zacharias Smith spat; distinctly annoyed.

"He has rather nice hair," Luna murmured, absent-minded.

Her almost irrelevant comment brought the sneers of the crowd slowly to a close. Not for the first time, Harry wondered if there was more to Luna than the slightly dreamy impression she gave off: more than once, her bizarre words had been a great help. He frowned; but quickly seized the chance.

"Stop it!" Harry shouted, taking advantage of the brief silence. "What's the DA for?"

"Fighting You-Know- Voldemort!" it was Neville who spoke this time, gaining a few cheers from most of the DA.

Neville wasn't as against Draco as the others seem to be. Sure, he wasn't completely in support of the appointment, but he trusted Harry enough. Harry had created the DA: the way Neville saw it, he had the right to recruit whoever he wanted. Harry could make the right decisions.

"Why?" Harry looked around. The student had a surprising amount of charisma, possibly stemming from his fame. The DA found themselves listening to him, as the black haired boy walked between them.

Draco stood where he was, stiff, withdrawn.

"Muggle-borns?" Harry continued, arms openly to his sides, "'blood-traitors'? All those words the Death Eaters use. Do you agree with them? You?" Harry stopped just by Zacharias

"No," the student replied, disgusted, but Harry cut him off

"The hatred of anyone- everyone different," Harry's voice rose to a passionate crescendo, "But what are you doing? I thought we were meant to be better than this. If it's Voldemort you're against, don't act like him."

Silence.

Harry was, in a way, the glue that tied them together. He'd been withdrawn over the last few days, still affected by Ginny's death, and the fact he'd delivered such an impassioned plea to them spoke volumes on just how much this meant.

His points were good, true. That was another cause for silence; yet, unquestionably, the greatest effect came from the degree of emotion Harry must have felt. No one could bring themselves to speak.

Draco couldn't suppress a shudder. Harry had spoken out on his behalf; if someone had told Malfoy that five years ago, the blonde would have laughed. Now Draco could just feel guilty; the Dark Mark prickled.

He'd been commanded to kill Dumbledore. And now Dumbledore's Army was accepting him.

"I'll just go," Malfoy muttered, snapping. He couldn't take the silence; it was worse than the sneers. He was struggling to recall why he'd agreed to it.

Steps from the door, a voice from the DA: "No!" Strangely enough, it was Hermione: Draco winced to think the insults he'd once dealt her.

She blushed as all eyes went to her. "Well," she began, "It's only fair to give him a chance."

Harry nodded his thanks; Draco looked at her, incredulous. She flashed him a look to show she hadn't still hadn't forgiven him; yet also to demonstrate her acceptance of the fact he was human and, like all humans, prone to mistakes. It was a startling admission from Hermione, of all people.

"I-" the blonde began, feeling the need to say a few words. He hesitated; "Sorry for the last few years," that was all there was really to say. Then, because: "Thank you."

Malfoy's words managed to break the silence.

The DA began to move, students gravitating into their normal groups, exchanging the normal pleasantries, gossip, just like a normal lesson. It wouldn't be right to say they'd adapted to Draco's presence; more, they'd stopped noticing. With the speeches and pleas, they couldn't think of any rational reason to protest: yet few were happy with it. So, they ignored him.

Not that Malfoy minded. It was better than the stares he'd received upon first entering.

The blonde looked around; person to person. Luna and Neville were practising a few spells together, as were Ron and Hermione, and several other pairs composed of people Draco couldn't quite name.

Harry was by the wall; staring into the mirrored side, silent. He'd gone into himself again, withdrawn, unmoving, unaffected by the real world.

Malfoy watched the student for a few seconds; he sighed. Then, shrugging, the blonde turned and walked straight out of the Room of Requirement, leaving the DA there. He'd been 'accepted', if that was the word. Still, he didn't care. He didn't belong; and he should have realized that before.

O

The Doctor reclined in Dumbledore's Office, staring at the window to the grounds far below.

People vanishing. It really did happen too often, the Time Lord reflected. Though, of course, there were more worries this time: how were the students vanishing? There hadn't been too many, but there were easily enough to worry.

Displaced in time as well as space. Invariably however, the victims seemed to end up in the future; well, the two they knew of at least. Luna, and the one who'd met River.

Something else was nagging at his mind; Rory. The ghost, obviously from his future: Rory was going to die, and would end up in the past of Hogwarts. A displacement in time.

The Doctor didn't want to think it; he just hoped Rory hadn't made the connection yet.

The way things were, it looked like Rory would die this year.

Suddenly, the gargoyle that lead to the headmaster's office rose; two redheads jumped away from it. Fred and George. One of them, probably George, was carrying a familiar piece of parchment.

"This is-" George hesitated "We think you probably want to-"

"See this," Fred finished, grinning.

George extended his hand; the Doctor, frowning, took the Marauder's Map from him.

The Time Lord looked down at the Map. For a moment, it looked normal.

Footsteps wandered around the inked Hogwarts, most labelled in a neat, cursive scrawl. A few exceptions: the Doctor's location was composed of unnamed footsteps, one dot was labelled 'Amy Pond' yet seemed to flicker, and another: a blot on the mark marked enigmatically as _Nameless_.

The text washes away. Frowning, the Doctor watched as the Map turned to plain paper. Empty. And then words wrote themselves.

_Hello sweetie_.

"It did that to us too," Fred began, peering over the Doctor's shoulder, "That's-"

"Why we brought it to you," George continued; "It said to."

The Doctor looked up at them once, before returning his gaze to the paper with a roll of his eyes.

"River," the Time Lord sighed. "Just had to be, huh?"

_Of course. What did you expect? _

The Doctor blinked. Great, now the Map was talking to him. He could almost see River's smirk as she wrote it. "What do you want now, then?" the Doctor sighed.

_An awful lot of things. _(The Map paused at this point, before continuing the writing). _You'll give me most of them later. And believe me, you'll enjoy it. Now though, I'll settle for you taking a quick trip to wherever this Map shows I am. _

The Doctor frowned, watching as the text was replaced, once more, with the inked Map of Hogwarts. River was standing, alone, in a fairly wide corridor; the nearest person was…

Oh no. The Doctor blinked, focused on an area just around a corner from the woman.

A blot, _Nameless_: it wasn't moving, yet its proximity alone was worrying. Almost invariably, creatures without names were trouble; the Map couldn't give him a name, and most people you asked would agree with that assessment. The Doctor was most definitely trouble.

The Time Lord leapt up to his feet, ready to run towards River. Then, seconds before passing Fred and George, he frowned, looking back at the Map: "Wait a moment, how do you even know what to say?"

_Spoilers._

For a moment, that looked like all the Map was going to say. Then:

_Look to your left._

Rolling his eyes, the Doctor followed the Map's directions; left of him, there was a large portrait on the wall, of an old, mildly pompous, Headmaster. Frowning, the Time Lord walked up to them, grasping the edges of the portrait. The image protested, muttering something about 'no respect for their elders', as the Doctor lifted it off the wall, and rested it on the side of the table.

Looking back, the Time Lord noted a small, yellowing scrap of paper pinned to the stone. The Doctor swiped the paper down, from where it must have been hidden for years. One line of text was written on it

_You know, you're really predictable_.

The Doctor rolled his eyes again. Trust River. Actually, don't trust River, wouldn't end well.

Leaving the protesting portrait where he'd left it, the Doctor took a last glimpse at the Marauder's Map, before dropping it on the table, running after River and _Nameless_.

In Dumbledore's Office, Fred and George stayed behind, looking at each other, and then at the muttering portrait of an ex-headmaster.

"Oh, hello there!" it cried, posh, "Would you mind terribly again putting me back up?"

The twins grinned, advancing on the frame. A few seconds later, the portrait was back where it was, left there by a grinning Fred and George. It was a little time before the picture realized it was upside down; and started shouting, but by then the twins had scooped up the map, erased it, and gone.

They didn't read the Map however. The small scrawl, having recently appeared, by _Nameless_, went unseen. _Bellatrix Lestrange_.

O

A creature watched from the walls. It felt at home there, somehow, pressed against the coarse stone. Still.

It could feel the effects of time and weathering. Cracks, chips in the wall. Damaged by hyperactive students over years of teaching; replaced again and again. This particular wall had been shattered a matter of weeks ago; it had seen. A Sixth Year, practising a shield charm; and instead, creating something which repelled everything, even air, within a five metre radius. The wall closest had been blown to pieces; repaired, of course, minutes later.

It had no name. It had never needed one. Usually, it spent its time and life alone: except when necessary. Living in this school was a new experience; and not one it wanted to repeat.

There had been one exception. Years ago. A partnership; of sorts. A connection.

And then the Doctor had arrived. And, coldly, uncaring, had taken his life. And had left her laying there, barely alive.

The creature, Nameless, moved ever-so-slightly away from the wall, slow, weary. Centimetres later, it stopped in its tracks.

A body stood behind it, close, with a wand pointed right to its throat. Nameless didn't need to turn; even if it could. It knew who it was; even without the momentary glimpse of tangled hair.

A bubble of fear formed in its mind.

"You haven't been listening to us," the woman whispered, voice rational on the surface, yet Nameless knew of the instability that lay beneath.

If it remembered, her name was Bellatrix. A servant of that pale, cruel figure.

"Why haven't you been listening? It should be an honour to obey him," her voice, strangely soft, only stirred the growing fear.

Silence. The creature was frozen where it was, unmoving, unwilling to. The woman stood by it, wand pointed firmly; both a threat and a promise. Nameless could easily remember the utter, unbearable, impossible agony that the woman could cause. All too easily.

"You should be thanking us," was she taunting? Or did she really believe her words? It was hard to say.

Bellatrix looked the creature up and down; appraising like one might examine an ailing pet.

"You're starved," her voice, little more than a harsh whisper, seemed almost pleased. Then, irritated; she continued; "Your death will not even be an inconvenience. Do not think to threaten us."

The woman took a step back. Nameless tried to tense; but there was no way it knew to prepare for what was coming.

"_Crucio!_" the agonizingly familiar incantation cut through the air.

Pain coursed through the creature; it stayed unmoving, screaming inwardly. In its mind, there was nothing, no thought: all wiped away by the pain.

Then, slowly, echoes of real thought began to grow, to spread. Fury. Rage. At Bellatrix, at the Doctor, at the pale man.

With a suddenness that was almost an agony in itself, the curse ended. Nameless stayed still, afraid to move, as the woman once more neared it.

"We have given you the chance for revenge. Act on it," her voice gained that warning waver; a sign she was close to her more typical vehemence.

Silence. Bellatrix moved closer; head peering over the creature's shoulder, eerily close to its body; Nameless heard her exhale.

"Her," the Death Eater spoke, pointing forwards at a woman, wandering past. "You need to feed. Feed on her _now_. And then, kill the Doctor."

Nameless felt Bellatrix move away. It was still; what could it do? Obey the woman, and take the revenge it found so inexplicably hard, or resist and face her agony?

As if hearing its thoughts, there was a flash of blue light: Bellatrix once more appeared, right in front of the creature.

"Obey us," she hissed, "Or next time, the pain will never end." She raised her wand.

That settled it. Nameless was afraid of one thing, above all else: pain. It had never felt the like before, not a pinprick, not a stubbed toe. Nothing. And now, this woman threatened the all-consuming agony which drove many an adapted human insane. It had no choice.

Moving unbearably slowly, Nameless moved past the now-vanished Death Eater, watching the distant woman. River Song; that was her name.

The woman turned around, catching sight of the creature as it was just metres away.

"No…" she exhaled, shocked, blinking, surprised.

And Nameless descended, to feed.


	5. Lost And Found

**Well, some people have guessed one thing; but there are still some surprises due.  
>Here's the next chapter! Enjoy! Unfortunately, the next update may take a while, as after this Saturday I will no doubt be feeling inadequate to write anything to do with Doctor Who. Mid-Series finale!<br>A fair bit of dialogue this chapter, but Dumbledore and River are just so fun to write. **

The Doctor stood in the empty corridor, spinning around on the spot, searching.

She wasn't there. River was not here; and there was no sign of the _Nameless_, the blot on the Marauder's Map.

Empty; no sign of anything; wait. He hesitated, darting up to the wall. There was a scratch; a small scrape. Curious, the Time Lord peered at it; moving his eye as close as possible.

Yep, definitely a scratch. Something had run away; strong enough, and quick enough, to chip the solid stone. Not River then; so where was she? Curious, he took out his sonic screwdriver, running it along the stone.

Something brushed his neck; he jumped accidentally dropping the sonic.

Whirling around, the Doctor froze yet again. Nothing; silence now. Odd in itself. There was usually constant nattering in Hogwarts; especially around then, the time between lessons.

Confused, the Doctor looked back at the wall; and froze again.

No scratch. Just smooth, plain stone. Either there was a very handy builder around, or something else was going on.

He was so intent on examining the wall, that he didn't notice a person behind him; a woman, stumbling out of the empty air. She blinked, looking up, around, before walking over to the Doctor. A tap on his shoulder; the Time Lord span around.

"River!" he gasped, blinking, top half of his body spinning around a little madly, "Nice to see you!"

"Isn't it always?" she tilted her head, "Wish I could say the same."

"What's wrong with me?" the Doctor pouted. Frowning, he reached up, patting his hair; "Should I get a fez?"

"No, god no," River winced, "I meant more _how_ you got here."

"Yes, well," the Time Lord hesitated, "Where's here?"

"Same place as before. Ask something else," River giving a knowing smile; "Did you even see it?"

"See what?" the Doctor paused; "Ok, when's here?"

"I love it when you're the companion," River smirked; lifting up her arm and baring the vortex manipulator. She tapped a button; "1976. Earth, Hogwarts." She seemed about to do something else, when a sudden shower of sparks shut from the device. She rolled her eyes; "And the forced time travel broke it. No getting back that way."

"And how are we here?" the Doctor tilted his head

"Spoilers," River tapped her nose, laughing

"It's just happened!"

"You keep saying it to me," River protested. The Doctor blinked; times change, it seemed. "Well, in the future, I turned around and bumped into something."

"What?" the Doctor said, impatient, childishly eager, once it became clear River was pausing.

The time travelling woman, paused, tilting her head, teasing, as she watched the Doctor. Then:

"A Weeping Angel."

River was pleased to note the Doctor's eyes widen. Oh, she loved catching him by surprise.

"Never mind," she shook her head, before the Doctor could speak; despite his optimistic personality, he always seemed to want to make the worst out of every situation. "Vortex manipulator," she tapped her wrist; "I know you don't like them, but tough luck honey. Sonic me!"

"I, ah-" the Doctor frowned; "Why?" he began to rummage through his pockets.

"You've had a bit of practise repairing these things, so a certain Captain tells me," she shook her wrist again, pointing towards him.

"You've met Jack?" the Doctor looked up for a moment; then rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"

"We agree on a few things," the woman smiled; seemingly holding back a laugh. Then, a frown; "Why's it taking so long, have you lost the sonic again?"

"No," the Doctor patted himself down, eyes darting around, "I know…exactly where it is."

"Where, Mars?" River rolled her eyes. Typical.

"No," the Doctor protested; "It's right here!" his ever-so-slightly wild voice did nothing to River's suspicions; especially when he winced. "Twenty years from now, but right here!"

Typical. River couldn't hold back a fond chuckle.

This was just the Doctor all over. Attacked by a Weeping Angel, trapped twenty years away from the TARDIS, and he still tried to convince her that he knew what he was doing.

In all honesty, she thought he was always making things up as he went along, and taking credit whenever things fitted together.

"So," River Song sighed, "We're alone together in the basement of a huge castle." A smirk; "Any ideas what we could do? I can think of a few."

O

"Fred, George," Dumbledore looked from one twin to the other, as they sat in front of his desk. His expression was severe; yet his voice almost amused. "I hear you have begun a new line at your shop."

"That's right sir," Fred beamed; nervously glancing at his brother. "Memories of School-days, for any nostalgic customers."

"So I see," Dumbledore nodded once, peering at a document on his desk. A small, drawn stick-figure was gesturing madly, emphasizing a few words of writing, and making rude gestures at Fred and George. "What is it that you are selling?"

"Well- um," it was George who spoke this time, hiding any trace of discomfort, "We've got scale models of all the major Wizarding Schools, with packs of moving students and teachers four knuts each, busts of most Hogwarts teachers-"

"Is it true that the bust of Severus has a tendency to switch into wearing Mr Longbottom's grandmother's hat?" Dumbledore inquired, quite kindly

"Um," George spoke; Fred was too busy sniggering. "We haven't quite worked out all the kinks…"

"I was merely inquiring. Do go on," the elderly headmaster gestured

"Well," the Weasley twin paused, "We've enchanted a few mirrors, to remind people of the teachers," a wince.

The twins seemed lost in thought for a moment; they'd been called to this office, amiably, by Dumbledore himself; and now they spoke together, nervous.

Dumbledore was asking them about a new line of items at their shop; mostly for nostalgic purposes but, like everything there, it had a classic Weasley twist.

Watching the redheads, Dumbledore picked something up, off his desk; a small, circular mirror.

"Ah yes, I remember picking one of those up," he smiled amiably, tapping the item in his hand.

There were a few seconds of silence; then the face of the mirror rippled, and a small head came into focus; Snape.

"Ten points from Gryffindor!" the mirror thundered in a quiet, tinny voice.

"We've, uh," Fred spoke up, "Programmed them with catch phrases."

"So I see," Dumbledore observed, lightly tapping it again.

This time, a small representation of the headmaster's white bearded face came into focus. It peered out of the mirror before speaking.

"Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak!" recited the facsimile, before fading away.

"Most ingenious," the real Dumbledore commented, putting the mirror down. "I also hear you are selling souvenirs from many schools?"

"Yeah," George nodded, tense, glancing nervously at Fred.

"I only ask, as Mr Filch has complained to me that the chair in his office has vanished every day for the past three months. I do not suppose you know why?" Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling; his voice was more amused than interrogative.

"Nothing to do with us sir," Fred said, grinning tentatively. George shot a disbelieving look at his brother.

"Very well," Dumbledore said, making George blink. "I also hear rumours of a new product. 'Hogwarts toilet seats', I believe."

"Ah, well, just replicas," Fred said, still nervous. His brother was still staring, incredulous at the barefaced lies.

"A pity," Dumbledore inclined his head, eyes twinkling, "It is most strange to not have complaints about your exploits reaching my ears every week; though I did have a portrait complaining of two redheads placing him upside down on the wall. Alas, we cannot find out who they were."

The Weasley twins shot another look at one another, a little nervous, a little relieved. There was something very odd about Dumbledore; with one breath, he cold make them feel like First Years again, afraid, and with the next he could make them feel almost grateful.

"If you wish, it would be possible for us to deliver genuine souvenirs of Hogwarts to your shop," Dumbledore said, brushing the sheet of paper on his desk (the one with the abusive stick-figure) aside. A smile; "Or perhaps we could simply turn a blind eye when our lavatories explode. In return for a form of payment, of course."

The twins met each others' eyes again. Ah. They didn't think they'd get away with it quite that easily; even if Dumbledore was too nice to say it explicitly.

"What would be suitable?" Fred sat up, donning a mock-posh voice, smiling at the twinkle in the headmaster's eye

"Perhaps a temporary lending of an artefact. There is one created in this school, which may be of use: and which you are currently in possession of," Dumbledore turned towards George.

The Weasley twin could guess what the headmaster was talking about, strangely easily. It did make sense; disappearances throughout the castle, an unknown perpetrator, and this _Nameless_.

There was one obvious thing to want. And they did have it, even if they weren't technically supposed to.

Wordless, George placed the Marauder's Map on the desk, on top of the rest of the assorted paper.

"Thank you," Dumbledore nodded slowly, once; and then looked up, eyes smiling; "I will have to report your theft of this map to Argus, I'm afraid. Unless, of course, it slips my mind. My memory is not what it used to be."

"Thanks sir," Fred exhaled, grinning; even when they were no longer in the school, it would be better not to have Filch after them.

The Weasley twins left shortly after that. Stepping out of a now-invisible TARDIS, Amy and Rory quickly moved over to Albus; urgent.

"Have you got it?" Amy said urgently, looking over the desk; "I just see parchment."

"Ah, Mrs Pond," Dumbledore smiled softly, pressing his wand to the top sheet; "_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_."

Ink started to sprout over the page, small scrawls drawing out the now-familiar introduction; even with the addition of River's name, which had been there before, albeit not in the movie.

Then, instead of a Map of Hogwarts coming up, there was simply two sentences.

_About time you lot got this. There's a Weeping Angel in Hogwarts; and you'll forgive us if we don't draw a sketch._

O

River sat down on the floor; the Doctor paced in circles around her.

They hadn't left the room yet. Despite long-ago exhausting it of any possible 'clues', the couple still hadn't decided to leave and explore the rest of Hogwarts. Probably more people out there; and River knew, the Doctor always made a mess of explanations, especially to questions such as 'Who are you?', 'How did you get here?' and 'What in the name of sanity have you got on your head?'

"You saw an Angel?" the Doctor attempted to strike up a conversation, still pacing.

"We've been over this; yes." River paused; "Still doesn't explain everything."

"Or it might do, and we're just too thick to realize," the Doctor reached up, scratched his head, "Luna in the 22nd century, and someone else in Storm-cage. Flung through space too; even if the Angel did it, that's not unusual, orbit of the earth it's a miracle any victims ever stay on the same planet. But forwards in time? An Angel doesn't do that."

"It could be a very confused Angel," River suggested, cutting into the Doctor's monologue.

"What? Um- that's a ridiculous idea!" the Doctor rolled his eyes

"You were about to say it, I know you," River shot back, accusing.

""Yeah," the Doctor began, challenging. Then, more sullenly: "Yeah…"

Quiet.

"Can't have been active for long anyway," River spoke; "When I saw the Angel, it was wrecked. Lost almost all its image; that's the only reason it got me; it was slow, but I didn't recognize it until it was too close."

"Why is nothing ever simple?" the Doctor groaned, running his hands back through his hair.

"You'd complain otherwise," River retorted.

The Time Lord seemed about to deliver a witty response when, instead, he tilted his head and nodded. She had a point.

Silence again. The Doctor peered at the wall that would end up scratched in about twenty years. Thoughtful.

He hated having to wait long periods of time; especially when it was in the right order. Still, didn't look like they had much of a choice. Well, there were worse places than Hogwarts.

"Can Angels actually send people forward in time, rather than backwards?" the Doctor faced away from River, waving his hand in front of his head; strangely thoughtfully.

"You tell me," the woman rolled her eyes

"You're the one with the book!"

"What book?"

"The Alfava- no, wait," the Doctor winced; "Spoilers."

River rolled her eyes. The Doctor needed practise. She filed away the name for later research.

"I don't think they should be able to," the Doctor muttered to himself. "They feed on lost potential, it's not lost when it ends up in the future, it's just…delayed," the Doctor hesitated, frowning.

River got to her feet; a sigh. She paced to the wall, and way, facing down the corridor. She was about to suggest they leave, when she heard voices.

The Doctor gestured frantically. River, in a moment of understanding, quickly darted across to him, standing by the walls as a group walked past.

There were four boys; one with tousled black hair, one with short, blond/brown hair, another with longer, pulled back blond/brown hair, and the final with messier, yet still similarly coloured hair. They stopped, almost as one body, upon sight of the tiem travellers; though the one with pulled-back hair did jump a little.

"Ooh, hello," the man with short, brown hair frowned, voice not quite trusting; "Don't remember seeing you around."

"We're, ah-" the Doctor hesitated, "Not technically meant to be here. That's why."

"Not meant to be here," the black haired man snorted, "We ought to make a club James."

"No one's meant to be in these dungeons," the messy-haired boy said; explaining and chuckling, "Not safe. Teachers still repairing the place."

"We're-we-we're h-here to e-ex-explore," the man with pulled-back hair said; not so much stuttering as exhaling, wanting to add something in, even if it was superfluous.

"Give the game away, why don't you Peter?" The man identified as 'James' rolled his eyes, chuckling. "Well, might as well introduce ourselves after that."

"Remus Lupin," the messy-haired boy, a Hogwarts student it seemed, extended a hand, "The voice of reason for this bunch."

"Oh, that's rich," the black haired man laughed, before looking back at the Doctor and River, "I'm Sirius, Sirius Black."

"P-Peter Pettigrew," the pulled-back hair man gasped, breathing all too often in his words.

"And I'm James Potter," the last, the boy with shorter hair, concluded, hesitating for a few seconds. Then: "Who in Merlin's name are you?"


	6. Need

**Hello again!  
>So, hopefully you're still enjoying this. the Marauders are quite fun to write, despite a fairly short part so far, and there's a bit of dialogue with Harry I quite like in this chapter.<br>Anyway, as some of you guessed, it is a Weeping Angel. But, naturally, things just aren't that simple. Hee, enjoy! **

The Doctor and River exchanged a glance, before looking at the four students again. James, Remus, Sirius and Peter: the Marauders, who would at some point create the Marauder's Map. A Map which had River's name on it; as a point of interest. It seemed she'd already been added to the timeline.

"Well, I'm the Doctor," the Time Lord grinned, taking Lupin's hand. "And this is Mrs Robinson," the grinned sideways to the woman

"No," she retorted, firmly. "I'm River Song," she flashed a smile at Lupin; "The voice of reason for _this_ bunch."

"There are more of you?" Sirius said, frowning, looking around.

"There would be. A Roman and a, well," River smirked; "Spoilers. They're not here right now."

Silence. The Marauders seemed slightly more at ease now; less guarded, as they had been when first coming across the two.

"Forget all that," James Potter extended his arms; a gesture for quiet. He peered at River and the Doctor; "How did you two get here? It's not meant to be easy to sneak around Hogwarts."

Lupin coughed rather loudly at that; though he said nothing. James shot a sideways glance at the student; a silent plea for quiet.

"Secret passages," it was the Doctor who spoke first this time, grinning. "You lot should know, there are plenty of them, all over the place." A pause. Then, grinning; "You should make a map."

O

Another DA meeting came and went.

Draco attended this one; though he didn't participate. He had the invitation, and most gave him a grudging acceptance. It was enough. The blonde just sat by the mirrored walls, watching the curses fly, more a spectator than a player.

The blonde observed; as normal. It was all he seemed able to do. Watch as events unfolded around him.

Still, Harry was unable to do anything. The Boy Who Lived stood facing an empty mirror, silent, thoughtful, tragic. It was kind of frightening to see the Boy Who Lived in such a situation. He was supposed to be the hero to most of the school; the only one who could face Voldemort. Now he was staring into a mirror, more focused on his thoughts than the real world.

"Alright, lesson over," it was Neville; the Gryffindor took a quick look at Harry. "I think we should be going."

The DA was used to taking the student's suggestions. It had been happening more and more, ever since the end of the last year.

The organization trailed out of the room; Draco hesitated, throwing another look back at the now-alone Harry. The boy didn't seem to mind. Malfoy was tempted to stay, just because; but a large Gryffindor was behind him; gesturing for the blonde to leave in a manner that didn't leave much room for negotiation.

That was always the problem, Draco reflected. They saw him for his House; still, wasn't like he didn't deserve it.

The brand on his arm prickled.

With a sigh, Draco left the Room of Requirement. He'd gone down to the fourth floor before the Gryffindor behind him had taken a different route; and for a little time, the blonde considered heading back to the room. No, Draco eventually decided; Harry looked like he needed his time by himself.

In the Room of Requirement, the black haired boy's eyes were focused on his reflection. Lost. Was the room helping him, or was it his own mind? He saw Ginny there, an echo of her perfect features.

Harry closed his eyes; resting his forehead on the mirror. Silence. That was what he needed; absolute quiet. Enough to think, and enough to relax.

"Who is she?" it was a child's voice. A girl. It took a few seconds for Harry's mind to process the word; and a little longer for him to actually think about them.

Harry opened his eyes, looking at the mirror again; to survey the room. Ginny was there, still: as if by his side. It reminded him of the Mirror of Erised; perhaps that Mirror had in fact been synthesized from this room? Whatever the case, his once-girlfriend stood just next to him, arm on his reflection's shoulder.

He felt a sad pang of envy with his own reflection.

Then; behind them. Something else: it hadn't been there before. Some sort of statue. The mirror seemed to ripple around it; as if its image had some special property. Harry blinked, peering closer at the statue; it hadn't been there before, indeed, it seemed like it'd been moving even as he looked.

An Angel; hands on its eyes. Grey; two, slightly worn, stone wings. Stone coarse, almost eroded. It was taller than a human; it seemed strange Harry could have missed it.

Sighing, Harry leant forwards, closing his eyes once more and resting his forehead on the cold mirror. It seemed to move beneath his skin.

"Who is she?" It was the child's voice again; persistent. Urgent. Harry took a moment to respond.

"Who?" the black haired student said, quiet. Harry didn't even know who it was that spoke; he replied to the empty air. To that statue too, if it was listening.

"The girl in the mirror," the voice sounded strangely innocent. Unnervingly so. "You've been staring at her. Why?"

The voice wasn't menacing; it was a child's voice, there was no way it could be. It was simply inquisitive; Harry even smiled as he heard it, despite the subject matter. Hearing the girl's voice was somehow a comfort, even if it was imagined. Someone he called talk to.

No one else seemed to be able to see Ginny in the mirror; at least, no one in the DA had commented on it, and it was hardly something that could be missed. A beautiful, lost girl inside a mirror. Unless the Room was purposefully showing it to someone else, unless that someone else _needed_ to see Ginny. But Harry could see no one. All in his mind; the words were like a mantra in his head.

"She was," Harry hesitated as he spoke. "She was my girlfriend. I don't like that word, it sounds too shallow, but it's the only word I can use."

A pause. Then: "Wife?" the young girl's voice spoke. Heartbreaking; her voice was full of emotion suddenly, more emotion than someone that age should have to bear.

"Maybe," Harry's voice was no more than a whisper. It was nice to say the words; he hadn't been able to tell anyone else. "Someday. We didn't really have the time."

"With us," the girl's voice was full of more than sadness now; there was a trace of guilt, as if it was sharing something it shouldn't. After a little hesitation, the girl continued; "We do not make commitments easily. We don't have elaborate bonds; with us, a commitment is a commitment. Total trust in another," an undercurrent of strong nostalgia, fond memories, now; "That is a marriage between Angels. We have no courts or churches or forms. When we commit, we are married. No formalities; and they seldom last less than eternally."

"Sounds nice," Harry whispered, breath clouding the mirror. He didn't try to move away from the glass; though it did almost feel like it was holding onto him. Beneath his forehead, the glass warmed.

"Ginny," the young girl's voice quoted the name. Emotionless once more. "Was she your wife?"

"If you use that definition," Harry murmured. "Yeah, she was. Ginny was my wife."

Silence again. The glass beneath Harry's head seemed to warm further. Harry wondered about the voice, the child; no one in the room, save for that statue; yet it was strange that his mind had imagined such detail.

"What happened to her?" the young girl spoke again; mature for the age of her voice

"She died," Harry said, hesitant. Then, oddly relieved to get the words onto the air; "Ginny died. She was trying to save me, and Voldemort killed her."

"Killed trying to save you?" the young girl's voice was once more flooded with emotion. It was strange; she was either emotionless, or spoke with so much feeling that she ceased to be using words, and instead intimated the essence, the emotion of what she tried to say. Her voice cracked; a gesture older than her years.

Harry nodded, as best he could. He couldn't bring himself to speak; another tear had found its way to his eye.

"And the murderer?" the young girl's voice was very nearly emotionless once more: though, possibly from practise, Harry felt a little more in it. A sense of sadness; of hope, and of confusion. Now she sounded more like the age of her voice than before. "What do you want to do to him? Revenge? Forgiveness?"

"I don't know!" Harry's voice was suddenly a shout. "I should hate him, I should hate him so, so much. But I can't, I just can't."

"He killed your partner, he deserves death," the girl urged him on; though her speech seemed aimed at more than Harry. The student didn't notice; didn't care.

"That's what he does; it's not what I do," Harry murmured, closing his eyes again. "I'm not a killer. I don't want to be; death is how I think of him, every time I've seen him, he's killed. If I kill, I'm no better than him. Maybe he deserves death, maybe he doesn't; I don't know!" Harry's voice reached a shout once more with the last three words; "But I do know, I just can't do it."

There was silence in the Room of Requirement. The odd pressure on Harry's forehead lessened; the Boy Who Lived didn't move, didn't care. He was lost in memory, lost in thought once more.

There was a strange pressure on the back of his robe; as if that Angel statue had moved closer, had rested a hand on him. The black haired boy exhaled; the tears were flowing freely now.

"I'm sorry," the young girl's voice echoed, strangely clearly in the room. Was the Room itself trying to amplify them?

Then the pressure on his robe was gone. Harry stayed where he was for a few seconds, then straightened, turned so he faced away from the mirror. The Angel had gone; that too had left him.

Bringing his knees up to his chest, and sliding to the floor, Harry Potter wept.

O

"A Weeping Angel," Rory repeated, looking at the Map again.

"That's what it said last week," Amy rolled her eyes; "And the week before that. It's probably not going to change."

A moment's silence. Rory was thinking; he'd seen what an Angel was, what it did; the Map had explained all the details.

Don't look at their eyes, don't take a photo, don't lift up a mirror, don't draw a picture, don't blink. That last instruction had been repeated several times. If an Angel touched you, it could send you into the past; not the future though, Rory noted.

The science behind it confused him; the Doctor and River had made a valiant attempt to try and explain it, but it was probably beyond human understanding. The Angel fed of the potential of a life lived, by moving a person into the past; leaving echoes of what would have happened. If it could somehow push them into the future, it would push the echoes also, making the action utterly pointless.

It was one thing that haunted Rory however; they pushed people back in time. He was going to die, it was already shown; his ghost wandered Hogwarts, having been somehow launched into the past.

"I'm going to die this year," Rory spoke; he'd been saying similar things for quite some time. It just felt so true.

"No you're not," Amy shook her head, sounding tough. Then, almost tender; "Don't speak like that."

They both knew they were denying what would most likely turn out to be inevitable. They didn't care; they'd had practise.

"When else are we going to be in Hogwarts, with the chance of being flung back in time? It's going to happen soon." Rory spoke. He was audibly upset by the news; but he seemed to just about be able to bear it.

He had a fear of death, to be sure. He'd been through it before; and the tiny, occasional flickers of memory he had of that time, between being shot and being a Roman, they scared him. But he also respected that some things couldn't be changed; a maturity which took several centuries to gain.

"Time can be rewritten," Amy quoted the oft-spoken phrase

"It's already happened," was Rory's reply; he wasn't being pessimistic, just certain. "My ghost is already here. I'm already dead."

"Oh, come on," Amy lightly knocked her husband's arm; "You've died before. A lot." She hesitated; "A _lot_. We can get out of it this time too."

"Maybe," Rory relented; giving Amy a chance to hope. She deserved it.

They needed some more advice. The Map, with all the words programmed into it by River and the Doctor, was still fairly vague. A notice they'd received a while ago (with Amy's touch to the paper), explained:

_We can't risk saying too much about the future, in case, the words appear ahead of time. Have to avoid spoilers, for Fred and George, Harry, and anyone else who ever used this Map. There are a few sentences assigned to each trigger, can't do that many. Now go off and do timey-wimey things! _

As best they could tell, they needed to trigger the sentences by putting the Map in situations unique to them; when Rory and Amy touched the Map, there were the simple, cursory introductions. From there, they'd more or less been stuck.

Apparently, the Doctor and River had used some sort of telepathic system to record words into the Map: and, as best Amy and Rory could tell, they'd done something similar to convince the Map to say those things only under specific circumstances. The trick was in finding out just what those circumstances were.

"TARDIS!" Amy exclaimed suddenly; Rory blinked, looking up at his wife. "Can't believe we didn't think of it before; something the Doctor had to have told the Map."

"Of course," Rory looked up further; drawn out from his inner thought, "That must be a trigger."

The two got up quickly; then spent the next few minutes feeling their way around Dumbledore's Office, until Rory successfully bumped his head on the cloaked TARDIS.

"I swear that thing keeps moving," Rory muttered, finding his way to the door.

Tentatively, they entered the time machine; Amy bringing the Map. Cautiously, she pressed the parchment to the central console.

For a few seconds, it looked like nothing had happened. Then:

_Ok, we've figured out how you can get us back. Just go- What the hell are you two playing at?_

Rory frowned; peering over Amy's shoulder at the writing. He wasn't sure why the Map had written that, but it didn't sound like a good thing. The man was just about to speak, when the words erased themselves, and were quickly replaced by an untidy, rushed scrawl; larger than most other words, covering most of the parchment.

_RWORDS!_

"That's helpful," Amy muttered; evidently sarcastic.

"What do you think happened?" Rory mumbled, slightly shaken by the sudden appearance of the latter word. The scrawl didn't have any of the neatness, or the slow, casual fade-in of the other writing; it had just appeared, rushed, fast enough to make Rory jump a little.

"Some distraction," Amy shrugged; "Doesn't take much with him, and he's hardly subtle."

"`Course," Rory nodded, "So, he was telling us how to get to him and River, and someone walked in?"  
>"That's what it sounds like."<p>

"Great timing," Rory rolled his eyes; a sigh. "Always. If he got caught, do you think he had a chance to actually say what he wanted to?"

"We'll see," Amy replied; frowning; "What do you think 'R-Words' is?"

"Rushed?" Rory quipped. Then, sombre; "Not sure. But if he did rush it, his thoughts might've been confused."

"When _aren't_ they confused?" Amy laughed; "Fair enough though. So he was thinking something beginning with 'R', and then thought 'words'?"

"Probably," Rory nodded; a pause. "Why 'words' though?"


	7. SoulBreaking

**I might have made a couple of things obvious in this chapter, but oh well. A mystery's no fun unless there's no chance to guess it. In any case, hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter; a little horror-inspired imagery towards the end, just to warn you, but there's also River, to make things a little more light-hearted. She is a _lot _of fun to write. **

The Marauders were designing a Map.

Apparently they'd been considering something along those lines for a while; but the Doctor had delivered that final push. They were making it already. Almost all their free time was devoted to it.

Of course, they had help; from two mysterious travellers that had made a small home for themselves in the dungeons of Hogwarts. The Doctor and River.

The duo lived in a room Sirius had found last year; just off the main route through the dungeons, and if you touched a pole of an iron gate in just the right place, the dank stones on a nearby wall gradually became transparent, insubstantial.

Through there, there was a moderately large room; now occupied by two sleeping bags, a charmed sink (supplied water without needing a water supply), a bag which filled itself with food from the kitchens, a flat board, several cloths, and a folding screen.

The folding screen hadn't been there for the first few days; but when the Doctor needed to wash, he insisted that it was a great deal easier without River's gratuitous staring. Despite her insistences that she wasn't interested ("Maybe when you're older"), her eyes did seem to be telling a different story.

On the wooden board, there often lay a sheet of parchment. Currently, it was blank; though occasionally, tiny spirals on ink appeared, and twirled across, before either vanishing, or trickling onto the floor. The magic in it had not yet been fully created or fixed.

"Doctor?" River lay in her sleeping bag, facing up at the ceiling. The Time Lord was fiddling with a gift from Lupin; some wizard logic puzzle.

"Mm," the Doctor murmured; distracted by the toy

"I'm surprised you haven't figured that out already," River commented, peering at the charmed device

"Oh, I have," the Doctor shrugged; "I'm trying to turn it into a bow tie, this one's getting worn," he tugged at the item around his neck.

River rolled her eyes; "Shouldn't you be more concerned with getting us back to the future? I mean, I'm perfectly happy to be here, alone with you in a rather nice room, sleeping together-"

"A metre away!" the Doctor protested

"Sleeping together," River said firmly, and more than slightly suggestively. "But I think you're a little young to appreciate that."

"So?" the Time Lord frowned.

"The Map!" River Song sighed. He was slow sometimes. "Look at it like this; between now, and the future, there are a few constants. One is this handy Map."

The Doctor hesitated; peering over at the parchment, A pause; "Well, you did leave me a message a little while ago."

"Ooh, did I?" River sat up, now all the more interested. "What'd I say?"

"I- ah," the Doctor stuttered a little at the woman's flirtatious tones. "Nothing like- ah, just that you reckoned my mischief wasn't managed."  
>"Oh, I can attest to that," a grin. "So, it looks like I agree with myself. Use the Map."<p>

"Send messages," the Doctor clapped his hands; grinning as he leant over to the parchment.

There were a few seconds as he sat over the Map: head directly above the paper, watching, staring. He frowned. Then, several seconds later, he spoke.

"How would that work, then?" he tilted his head; "Don't want anyone to read what we have to say. I think First Year Fred and George might balk to read what you have to say."

"Oh, that's rich," River was laughing; "You should see the things you come up with," the woman licked her lips; "They'd love to hear some of that."

"Anyway," the Doctor winced; partly from the spoiler, partly from the words themselves: "We can't just tell the Map to say something and let anyone see it."

A pause; the two sat where they were, both staring at the parchment. So close; but if they did too much tampering, things could end up so much worse.

"Well, how did I do it before?" River was the next to speak. The Doctor assumed she was talking about the message, rather than making another innuendo.

"As soon as I turned off the-" the Time Lord broke into a grin; "That's it! We can add triggers; as soon as I say 'Mischief managed', you can write a line. And if…oh, oh! If Amy touches it, we can tell them about the Angel, if Rory does…we'll explain the rest, and the TARDIS! Oh, the TARDIS, she can't be faked. As soon as the Map touches her, we can…"

The Doctor's voice trailed away as he eagerly lifted the map, hands pressing against it. Then, a few seconds later, he whipped out the psychic paper, and placed both of them on the floor, muttering about a transfer of energy.

River blinked; sitting back to watch the show. She loved watching him when he was so eager like this; as if he'd discovered that you could buy chocolate, or something. He hadn't seen him this keen since…well, spoilers. She couldn't help but smile at the memory.

Focused, the Time Lord's eyes watched the psychic paper; slowly, inked words appeared on the surface. _Go to t-_

"Oh, don't be like that," River sighed; "Start them off slowly, like this."

The woman reached across; rested her hands on the Doctor's, concentrating on the psychic paper also.

Silence for a few minutes. The two time travellers sat opposite each other, unconsciously adjusting into practically mirror images, joined only by their hands on the psychic paper. Eventually, the first line was decided upon, slowly appearing on the psychic paper, and sinking through to the Map below.

Thoughts merged. A short time later, the two had continued the programming of the Map, explaining what was happening, what they'd done, in as few words as possible, to the future Amy and Rory.

It was hard to describe exactly the sensation of touching another's mind, even through an intermediary such as the paper. The sense of oneness; that was unmistakable, but there was also the sense of guilt, or happiness; echoes of what the other felt. For his part, the Doctor (quite possible for the first time) blushed scarlet the instant he felt River's mind. While he didn't see anything specifically, simply the sense of her emotions was enough to embarrass the normally secure Time Lord.

"Ooh, naughty," River murmured, smirking, as she felt the Doctor's presence. "You shouldn't be looking in there. Spoilers."

The Time Lord withdrew sharply; he hadn't been seeking out spoilers, just exercising regular curiosity, and trying to figure out how for along River's timeline this was. He hadn't been looking for what River seemed to be perpetually thinking of.

Silence again; well, in the room itself. In their minds, and on the paper, there was a flurry of activity; as their thoughts discussed, words appeared and, just as quickly, were erased.

Minutes later, they'd moved onto setting up a response for when the Map touched the TARDIS. They hoped Amy and Rory would figure it out; they could only think of a few totally safe possibilities.

"How do you intend to get us back there?" River's words surfaced on the psychic sheet. Just as quickly, it was replaced by Galifreyan writing, which translated itself into English.

"You said it yourself. Constants."

In a whirlwind of ink, the psychic paper outlined the plan. River couldn't help but be slightly impressed; he always was inventive.

They went back to writing out the sentence, a quick set of instructions on the Map. They were so absorbed, that they didn't hear the noise, or see a man walk in. He spoke; enough of a distraction to wreck their focused thoughts, and replace it with what they heard.

"What the hell are you two playing at?" James Potter demanded, looking from one, to the other, and then at the Map; psychic paper resting on top.

The Doctor and River blinked; snatching their hands away from the paper so as not to taint the Map with any excess thoughts. It took a while to concentrate to the degree where they could write anything properly.

"That could take a while to explain," the Doctor was grinning, oddly cheerful. An act? Whatever the case, he reached out to lift the psychic paper up, off the Map.

He thought quickly. In the time it took him to touch the paper, his mind had skimmed through several alternatives, and settled one; his mind skimmed through telling them directly what to do, but after one letter, he realized there would most likely be too little room to hold the complete phrase, and he didn't have enough time to run through it all. He settled on mentally yelling one syllable.

A split second later, the paper was removed from the new Marauder's Map. The statement '_RWORDS'_, had all but faded; and as James approached, it had left their sight.

"Are either of you planning to answer me?" the Marauder snatched up the Map, keeping one hand by his pocket; on his wand, looking cautiously from River to the Doctor.

O

Molly Weasley paced along the room. The Burrow; empty at the moment, save for her, and a gnome infestation she was working to vanquish. She ducked, peering into the fireplace and thrusting her wand into it, suddenly illuminating the alcove.

A small gnome fell out, muttering and cursing to itself.

With a sigh, Mrs Weasley levitated the small creature before absently throwing it out the open window, quite some distance away.

Several minutes later, she decided to take a break, sitting down on a rather plump cushion. A shake of her head; a weary exhalation. She closed her eyes.

The gnomes were still in the house, she reckoned, wandering around, aimless and irritating. Still, most had been forced out. Those creatures had been finding more and more inventive ways of crawling into houses in recent days; afraid of what lurked outside. They weren't, strictly speaking, dark creatures: and so they were afraid of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. Yet, like most animals, they seemed oddly attuned to the changes in the world around them; an odd thought, compared with the kind of creatures they acted like.

A rustle. A strange sort of feeling ran through the house, as if every nook and cranny had shuddered. If Mrs Weasley had opened her eyes, she would have seen several dozen gnomes (some of whom had been hiding in the house for days, with great success, and some who'd been in for minutes, if not seconds), all running, cautious, quiet. Well, as quiet as they could be.

One of the small, ugly little creatures tugged at Molly Weasley's ankles, in an uncharacteristic fit. She kicked it away, groaning as she opened her eyes.

She froze. All the gnomes fled from the house.

"Hello Molly," a lilting, oddly friendly voice chimed, echoing through the cluttered Burrow, the woman speaking it just a metre from the sitting Mrs Weasley. "Blood traitor and scum of the Wizarding World, how are you?" all the while, the voice sounded somehow friendly.

It was Bellatrix Lestrange. Standing, clad in black robes, tangled hair to the sides of staring, mad eyes, and one arm pointing at Mrs Weasley, wand held cruelly. Smiling.

And in the next instant, her demeanour switched. Bellatrix bared her teeth, and fell forwards: in half a second her forearm was pressed to Mrs Weasley's neck, savage; a snarl. Hate.

It was a bizarrely Muggle action for the proud witch; yet Bellatrix relished it, feeling the air struggle in Mrs Weasley's throat, failing to enter her lungs, and feeling her body writhe, struggling, unable to concentrate enough to cast any spell. Mrs Weasley's eyes widened; unable to do anything, not to move, not to breathe… the world began to fade-

Bellatrix drew back; grimly smiling.

Molly Weasley dropped forwards, sliding off the chair, retching, the reintroduction to air after so many minutes as painful as the loss of it in the first place.

She peered up, vision still faint, lungs still aching, and her throat scratched from the retching. For a moment, just a moment, she allowed herself to hope-

And then the moment was over.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

O

Harry Potter stood up; the Divination lesson thankfully over. Things were going badly enough, and even though Trelawney had toned it down a little since last year, it was nice to go a day without hearing several premonitions of his death.

He'd also been told about a theft. A crystal ball had been taken from the tower; and just recently, Filch had given up the search; which was quiet impressive on the thief's part. Not much could elude the magical security of Hogwarts.

Harry wandered, alone, through a corridor, away from Divination. He closed his eyes, resting on the wall for a moment-

And he was in darkness. The Boy Who Lived stumbled up, straighter, and looked around; nothing. Something solid, metal, beneath him; and around? No, he wasn't sure. Everything was dark.

A moment of hesitation; looking around. For a brief moment, there was a light; harsh, but only over a small area; behind Harry. He did not see the source; yet it let him gain a brief glimpse of his location. A room, plain; no details could be made out.

"Witness hybrid technology," a…voice behind Harry. There was no way to describe it; none. Inhuman, definitely. But beyond that… Deep. Dismissive. Maybe triumphant. "The test begins."

Harry had the feeling the being was referring to him; yet it made no noise of acknowledgement, treating Harry as little more then a lab rat.

A light; a spotlight, harsh, illuminating a point a few metres in front of Harry, and just that point. No light cast on the walls, or the floor outside that one circle. In the light; a gothic-looking cradle of metal thorns, around what could only be the stolen crystal ball; yet it was different. Chipped; wires running through the once-perfect orb, and glowing an eerie crimson. Harry found it had to believe the crystal ball had not been visible in the darkness.

"Closer," a command from the inhuman voice. Harry felt something cold, metallic push into his neck; the Boy Who Lived staggered forwards, forced to bend over; he stared into the orb-

_He was elsewhere. The Dursley family before him. Vernon, Petunia, Dudley, even Marge. They were cowering. Afraid. Harry's hand lifted; wand pointed. A flash of green._

-and tore his gaze away from the images. Pained.

It wasn't the content of them as such; it was the emotion. He knew he should repulsed by those events; yet as he stared into the orb, he felt nothing but elation.

"Subject will continue," the voice spoke once more; and before Harry could process the words, there was that pressure of cold metal once more. The Boy Who Lived found his gaze force, unwillingly, back to the crimson-

_Dudley. Vernon. Petunia. Marge. Dead. Another flash of green; his wand made sure of that. And then he stepped outside, a spring in his step. Things were going well; a grin. _

_A Horcrux: a perversion of the art of magic, if you listened to some people. He now had six: and could not help but wonder if any others felt like this. Joy: invulnerability. The sensation of carrying immortality in a bag. _

_He wanted more. So much more. Passing one on the street; wand out, a flash of green-_

Harry screamed, not from any physical pain, but from the memories that the crimson gave him. What…what was that?

No respite. Cold metal; and rubber? This time, the student attempted to resist, but such attempts were crushed with ease. He looked into the orb-

_One hundred and eighty six. A good start. None had ever come close to what he now achieved; such levels of immortality. _

_Yet that was not why he created more and more Horcruxes. Once, perhaps: but now they were created for no more, and no less than _fun_. Immortality, reduced to a game. _

_In his darker moments, he wondered just how much more his soul could take. How many pieces, until it ceased to be nothing at all? _

_Green flash; and the ritual he'd come to know so well. One hundred and eighty seven-_

"No!" Harry shrieked.

The Boy Who Lived forced himself away from the travesty of a crystal ball. No more, please, no more.

The watcher, the controller, the creature in the room with him: it did not agree. Cold metal-

_They had all fled from him. Voldemort was named by each and every one of them: he was nothing. Nothing. All the fear that once belonged to Voldemort, and the word Voldemort itself; that was now his. _

_Horcruxes lay in the street. Discarded. All worked, all held fragments of his shattered soul. But he now had no many as to no longer need to protect them. _

_Six billion, seven hundred and twenty seven million, nine hundred and forty nine thousand, two hundred and twenty four Horcruxes. _

_One for every single human being on the planet Earth. Any Wizard could do this: any at all, if they were only willing. His soul was no more than dust. Because he had taken the step that even Tom Riddle had feared. _

_Immortality was his. As the last life on the Planet Earth. _

_Stolen, beating hearts lay on the streets. Horcrux. _

_One being had proved troublesome. Captain Jack Harkness. The man refused to die. _

_Wizards had been enchanting objects for centuries; hats which made the owner invisible, or shielded. He had done the same. Manacles: enchanted with _Crucio_. Jack wore them, wracked with agony for eternity. When his throat became too damaged to scream, He was killed. Most entertaining. _

_Upon resurrection. He screamed again: agony once more returned. He'd been left, months, years ago. _

_The last creature that could truly be said to survive, not live, merely survive, turned. A glimpse into a shard of glass; a reflection. Skin pale, strained, stretched over the skeleton beneath. Eyes milky white; yet they saw. Nose no more than two cuts, slits so fine they might have been cut there by scalpel. Lips thin; pale as the rest of him. Hairless. And on his forehead, stretched, but somehow still present: a lightning bolt scar-_

Harry fell away from the crystal ball; thankfully no longer forced to look into it. He felt like retching; yet that was not from the images, it was not from walking through streets filled with beating hearts stolen from their bodies, not from the feeling of having lost all trace of his soul, not from being responsible for the death of every single living creature on the planet. It was from the joy he'd felt at the sight.

Was that him? Could that ever be him?

"Test successful," the inhuman voice spoke. Harry didn't turn; he lay on the floor, sobbing, curled up where he lay. Barely listening.

"Most desired outcome programmed and method to achieve returned. This boy could eradicate Earth. The Orb has been commanded to find the solution to destroy all life with minimum casualties. Answer expected in one half a revolution of Earth."

Harry staggered to his feet, hating the sound of that voice. He scrambled for his wand; flinging a curse at the creature; still unable to see it.

There was something detestable about the creature. Its disregard for anything, for everything. The way it had forced Harry to watch himself commit atrocities; and be happy about it: not to mention the way it had stated it could force Harry to do it.

It was something no one wanted to think about: that they could be no more than a heartless weapon, at yet be glad about it.

No curse came from his want. There was no appearance and sputter, no brief sign, no vibration. Nothing.

"Neutralizer successful," the inhuman voice spoke once more, uncaring. "Subject will be returned to Earth should his potential be required. I travel to conclude the experiment. Final Solution to be sent automatically upon completion, with blueprints for all Hybrid Technology."

A moment of silence. Then the voice spoke once more: "Transmit."

A split second passed; and before Harry could do another thing, he was in Hogwarts, with next to no transition. Pale. Shaking.

He did not want to know what that creature was. Yet, somehow, he felt he had no choice.


	8. Reunion

**Some of you may hate me after the last chapter. Actually, I don't blame you...  
>Um, anyway, hopefully this chapter will cheer a few of you up. Enjoy!<strong>

James Potter carefully stared at the two time travellers before him. The Doctor and River. Cautiously, still focused on them, he put the map on a stone, behind him; away from them.

"What is this?" He said again; carefully watching the duo. Cautious; they'd been tampering with the Marauder's Map; and that map was a feat of magic worthy of later year Ravenclaw students, not to mention its inherent value: making it understandably precious. And what had they done to it? He didn't know.

"Ok," River was the first to speak; exhaling. She seemed to be preparing herself for a long speech. "This could take a bit of explaining; but it's really not as bad as it looks. Well," she smirked as she glance back at the Doctor; "Not _this_ time. You might want to take a seat-"

"Or get a biscuit," the Doctor cut in; not taking the turn of events at all seriously; despite the fact he was vulnerable to magic without the sonic (which he'd dropped about twenty years in the future). "Biscuits always help long speeches."

"I'll stand," James replied; guarded, wand in hand, and ignoring the Doctor. He met River's eyes; and didn't flinch.

"We're sending messages to a few friends," River shrugged; deciding to explain things as close to the truth as possible; well, as much as could reasonably be said. "We're using the Map to do that; it's the only real way. That's all we're doing; nothing bad, well, bad for you. Just sending a message."

"The Map's ours," James replied; quick. "It's not leaving Hogwarts."

"Now, I didn't say that," River's voice was guarded; very different to her normal, teasing tones

"How else are your 'friends' going to get the message," a pause; "That's even if I believe you."

A moment's pause; "Think of it as a time capsule," a smile curled River's lips; "It's to the future owners of this Map. Reminding them of nowadays," it was quite a blatant departure from the actual truth; and it showed in The face of James Potter.

"Right," profoundly sceptical; disbelieving. "If you're not going to tell the truth-"

"Please believe them," it was a new voice; one that, despite the certainty of his words, seemed unsteady.

There was something special about the ghosts of Hogwarts. Regardless of who it was, what House they represented, if any, how they looked, how they spoke: they inspired respect. People who'd lived their lives to the full, and even death had not stopped them. It was human nature to respect the dead, even if those dead were floating and talking.

James Potter, River Song, and the Doctor looked at the new arrival to the room; white, translucent; a little unsteady, voice shaking ever-so-slightly, unsure, but seeing need for his interference.

It was Rory Pond. Seemingly still-new to his life as a ghost; yet distinctly there, helping the Doctor.

"I, uh-" James was uncharacteristically taken aback by the ghost's sudden appearance. Ok." He was by no means finished with the discussion, yet could find no more things to say. The ghost had essentially made James feel guilty: should he try to continue the argument, who knows what he'd end up doing?

With a last look back, step hesitant, the Marauder left the room; leaving the Map behind. A few seconds of silence.

"Hello Doctor," Rory's ghost nodded once. Nervous.

"And how are you here?" River tilted her head; amused, yet her tones were covering something distinctly more emotional, at seeing Rory, lost in death.

"Um," Mr Pond hesitated; "How do you say that, 'spoilers'?"

"Almost," River chuckled; "You need a little more pizzazz. Spoilers," she waggled her eyebrows on the last word. "It's an art."

While River and Rory were conversing; River still hiding a great deal of emotion, the Doctor reclaimed the Marauder's Map, placing it back on the ground, and resting the psychic paper on top. There were a great deal more messages to add.

O

Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. Something was wrong with him.

A whole day of lessons had been skipped, he'd vanished from the Marauder's Map for a short time, and spent all his time in either the Room of Requirement (according to Draco), or in Gryffindor Tower. He'd also failed to turn up to a 'lesson' with Dumbledore; odd in itself, for failing to meet the headmaster, but equally, worrying for if Harry continued to not attend, then he'd lose the chance to destroy one of the Horcruxes.

Amy was worried; unquestionably. Even with all this extra stuff going on, Weeping Angels, Vashta-Nerada, Voices, Daemons… Harry Potter was still the Chosen One, the only one that could defeat Voldemort, according to the prophecy.

If he was unable to even attend a lesson, it didn't bode well.

The redhead was walking up to Gryffindor Tower with Rory; her husband. They held hands; double checking Harry was still in the dormitory, by means of the Map.

Before entering the Tower, they hesitated; metres away from the portrait-entrance. Pausing. There was something special about the way in…what was it?

"Password," the fat Lady intoned stiffly as another student tried to enter. The Gryffindor murmured something inaudible; and the portrait swung open.

Rory was about to walk up to the Fat Lady, when Amy grabbed his elbow;" That's' it," the redhead muttered urgently.

"That's what?" Rory said; momentarily hesitant. Confused.

"Password," Amy said, emphasizing it. A few seconds passed; Rory still nonplussed. The redhead sighed; "Stupid face," a fond smile; "_Words_, password. Instead of a setting, what if the Doctor gave the Map a password?"

"He-" Rory's face brightened. "That would be just like him. And the…'R'?"

"Oh, forget the R," Amy rolled her eyes; "It's probably the answer. But, words!"

"And what's the password?" Rory said, slowly, thoughtful. He watched as Amy's face fell; that much they couldn't tell.

"It's still the Doctor," Amy said, walking off the main corridor. "It'll be something he says a lot," with a sigh, Amy rested the Map on the banisters of the staircase; out of the way of any students going past. Then, with a startlingly small amount of pauses, she recited: "Fish custard, bow ties are cool, fezzes are cool, Stetsons are cool, Geronimo, sexy, TARDIS…um, I'm the Doctor?"

Her voice became increasingly more and more desperate as the list went on. She stared, despairing, at the Map: nothing more turned up. Had he run out of things to say, run out of time to add things?

"River was there too," Rory murmured; thoughtful, simply making a small suggestion.

The two Ponds exchanged a glance. It was one of those moments where everything just seems to fit; everything just clicks together. Their eyes met and the two, Amy and Rory, spoke in the same instant, the same word:

"Spoilers."

On the Map, beneath them, ink started to swirl; as if drifting through water, and gradually coming to form shapes, letters, words. Half a minute passed, before the letters became readable.

_Get the sonic. Put that on the Map. It's where the Doctor went to see Nameless. Ask Fred and George._

Amy peered up at Rory. "Another job for us," she sighed; yet she was smiling. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

O

"And what's this great plan?" River gestured broadly with her arms, struggling to keep up with the Doctor as the latter trailed through Hogwarts castle.

The Time Lord had apparently come up with a way to get them back to the future of Hogwarts, easily. After a short time interrogating Rory's ghost, to try and see if it would work (a conversation in which Rory had become quite proficient at saying 'spoilers'), the Doctor had left the Dungeons, and started to move through Hogwarts, a destination in mind. Maybe this trick worked, or maybe he lived his way to the future; they'd see.

The duo slowed on a higher floor; the Doctor silent, stopping just by the wall. He looked back at River; grinning. "Great plan, huh?"

River frowned, about to deliver a moderately snarky riposte when she caught sight of the wall. Ah…he really was quite impressive. Sometimes.

Just behind the Time Lord, recently formed, stood the door to the Room of Requirement. Then, River paused. They 'required' to go about twenty years into the future; how would even the Room achieve that? Unless the Doctor was going to do something stupid again, and ask for a time machine; but that would just be wrong. With the amount of people that could go into that Room, most of them would need a time machine; and that would end chaotically.

The Room seemed to take a little from the people that entered it; seeing what they knew, what they needed. Slightly psychic, perhaps?

Whatever the case, it didn't know how to operate as a time machine: until the Doctor needed one, of course, then it would gain that ability, as the Doctor did know how to make one, even if he couldn't drive it properly.

Luckily, the Doctor appeared to have thought of that: flashing a smile back at River as he explained.

"Do you know how to make stasis pods? They make wonderful ones on Telos. Cryogenic suspension!" he beamed; "And if I'm right…"

He pushed the door open, revealing the interior of the Room: fairly small this time, darkened. On the far wall, there were two pods; apparently the cryogenic suspension the Doctor had mentioned, each about the right size for a human occupant, and with a small red panel to the side marked: 'WAKE UP'.

Each of the pods was rectangular, with a thin sheet of what looked like cling-film over the front. In the main indentation, there was a soft, chill blue glow. Unsettling, to be sure; but strangely attractive.

"Who da man?" the Doctor clapped his hands once, before slapping himself in the face, "No, that still sounds awful. Well, here they are!" he gestured towards the pods.

A short spell of silence; the Doctor hopped into the Room of Requirement; now looking a great deal more futuristic, and out of place with the rest of the castle.

"As soon as we hop in," the Doctor murmured; "Our life signs will decrease enough so it'll think we're just books or something. Like that storage room."

The Time Lord paused just by one of the gaps: River shut the door to the room behind them; turning back to watch the fascinated Time Lord. He was examining one of the pods, making sure it looked like it'd work.

As best River could tell, they'd each go into one, and fall asleep essentially, for twenty years. Then Amy and Rory would obey the instructions on the Map, after touching it with the sonic screwdriver (Oh, she had fond memories of that), and hit the 'wake up' buttons.

The Doctor was about to barge into his pod, when the ghost of Rory drifted into the room. The ghost was hesitant; apparently newly deceased, slowly moving towards River.

"I think," Rory paused, still unsure, "Don't go in the pod yet. Doctor, you can; you're in more danger, from Bellatrix, but she doesn't know about River. So River should, um, stay out."  
>"Why?" It was River, naturally, who was the first to speak; "I need to get this thing fixed," she tapped the vortex manipulator on her wrist.<p>

"You can, later," Rory said, still hesitant, "The Angel still sends a few people back in time Sometimes. You need to find them; tell them to go to one point, at one time, and you can pick them up later; once the manipulator…thing's fixed. That's what you did, um, will do."

River raised her eyebrows; slightly impressed by how Rory was taking the temporal displacement in his stride. Most people could handle time travel on the large scale, but all too often, displacements over the course of one chain of events caused a headache. River knew; she's been involved in several.

"What about people going to the future?" the Doctor span around; facing away from the cryogenic suspension module, "Or am I just going to get 'spoilers'?"

"They," Rory winced; unsure of what he could say. "They're lost. The way they travelled- you said it was too random to be able to pick them up again. I- I'm sorry."

It really was remarkable how well Rory was coping; death and temporal displacement. Most people never had to deal with one of those situations; well, they weren't often concerned afterwards.

"So, that's settled," the Doctor clapped his hands; seemingly wanting to rush things. "River, you stay behind, for now, go gather up all the kids, and hop in the pod. Meanwhile, I've always wanted to do this;" he flashed a grin, "I wonder if it's just like time-"

The Time Lord stepped into the pod as he spoke, turned and a split second later, froze in a sudden puff of what looked like smoke. The 'cling-film' curtain fluttered for a few seconds; then fell still. Hardened; transparent as ever, looking the same, yet now it would resist any attempts to open without pressing the 'wake-up' button.

The Doctor's sentence remained incomplete; as it would, for the next twenty years.

River hesitated where she was; she had so much more to say, yet why say it? With a last look into the pod, the time travelling woman turned away.

O

Amy and Rory explored the dungeons; having been given the rough location by Fred and George. Dingy, rarely used, especially the area they were in. It wasn't hard to believe that the Doctor and River were the last to go there.

According to the Map, _Nameless_, the Angel, was not near them; it seemed to be spending most of its time in the room where Fluffy had once dwelt.

It took a few minutes to find the sonic screwdriver; the Doctor had dropped it, and it lay out of the light, just by the join of the corner and the floor. Amy picked it up; pressing it to the Map as soon as she could.

_Room of Requirement! Chop chop!_

The redhead rolled her eyes, calling her husband; showing him the instructions. Rory frowned; then sighed. They'd better hurry up then. With the husband holding the sonic, the wife holding the Map, the Ponds ascended through Hogwarts Castle.

Almost half a minute later, they reached the door to the Room of Requirement; stepping inside. The first attempt, they ended up in what looked like a maternity ward, the Room evidently a little confused about what they 'required'. (Amy thought she caught a glimpse of a woman wearing an eye-patch, though she couldn't be sure. It looked ever-so-slightly distorted). Second try, there was a double bed, surrounded by things the couple didn't even want to guess the purposes of.

Third time, concentrating on he Doctor, they found their way to a room; bearing two pods on the opposite wall. In both was a person; still, seemingly frozen. River, and the Doctor; the former with a smirk, the latter grinning. Unmoving.

A few seconds of hesitation; were they dead? The ponds didn't dare speak; the Room held the atmosphere of a tomb, those still eyes surveying the room, dull, lifeless. Them cautious, as if reaching for a snake, Amy touched the nearest 'wake-up' button.

A sudden jet of smoke; in River's capsule. The opaque burst ran up the woman's frame, rippling her clothes for the first time in years, restoring a dash of colour to her skin. The seeming-cling-film curtain rippled; and within, River Song blinked, pushing forwards, tearing her way out of the pod.

"Those things are never comfortable," she murmured, before looking up and noticing Amy and Rory; "You took your time."

"Oh, thanks," Amy rolled her eyes, sarcastic, "Who are you, my mother?"

"Spoilers," River said after a few seconds; a smile.

"Oh come on," Amy muttered, moving closer to the Doctor's pod; she lifted her hand, but hesitated an instant before waking the Time Lord. She looked sideways at River, nervous; "You're not though, are you?"

"Spoilers," River smirked.

The redhead looked away from the time travelling woman, resigned, bemused; and pressed the button.

A similar jet of steam; making the Ponds jump. Then, in one fluid motion, the Doctor stepped forwards, speaking;

"-Stops," he completed the sentence he began so many years ago, before blinking, looking around. "So, you made it back?" he tilted his head at River; before smiling; "Well, we're all back together." A grin.


	9. Anguish

**So, we're fairly close to the end of this story, but there are still several surprises to come. Hopefully you'll enjoy, and won't hate me for being evil. **

Harry Potter sat in the Room of Requirement. It was calmer than the Common Room around now; and the mirrors gave him some small comfort. Reflections of Ginny, his parents; ghosts of a sort, echoes. Comforting.

Sometimes he'd heard that child's voice; the girl, mature beyond her years, and sad beyond what anyone should feel. A kindred spirit of sorts, he felt.

But the girl, she hadn't seen what he had.

The visions still gave him nightmares. Harry Potter of the future, a twisted thing, committer of genocide for no purpose other than fun, and wrecker of his own soul. Because he could.

The emotions were still in him; the thoughts, the feelings. That tiny seed of darkness, that part everyone had in them; the monster, the thing capable of atrocities, Mr Hyde, the personal Devil, whatever you called it… It had been fed; nurtured, spurred on by that vision.

The world fell to the wand of Harry Potter. And Harry Potter laughed; and felt no remorse. Felt only elation.

The Boy Who Lived curled up in disgust; unwilling to look up at the mirrors. Unwilling to taint them with his eyes.

Silence.

Then, a voice. A boy's; a man's.

"Harry," it was Draco. The Boy Who Lived didn't move; he stayed where he was, curled up on the floor.

The…creature from what could be his future; that twisted Harry. It was still in him; and that savage part of him ran through all the ways to kill Malfoy, the quick, the easy, and those that would take years… A part even contemplated making a Horcrux; the recent knowledge as to the ritual made Harry want to cringe.

There was such a thing as forbidden knowledge. While in many cases, it was because of the application of the knowledge: an idea being able to do no harm, instead, a person doing harm with it: in this case, it was not.

There were some things too basely _wrong_ to exist in the world. The creation of a Horcrux was one such thing.

Harry could not help but retch at the thought. He'd lost the elation of that twisted future, yet had lost none of the knowledge: and he still felt that rush at the memory. The whole world trembled, his hands slick with blood, as-

No!

The black haired boy gasped; trying to drown out the memories. Think of something else: Hogwarts, Ginny, his parents…

Sobs now; yet it was better than the all-consuming sickness, that revulsion at himself, at his future. He'd do anything to stop that happening; yet he couldn't help but feel it was coming closer. That twisted part of his mind, the part that revelled in carnage and abomination; it was opened up now. Fed.

"Harry," Draco spoke; not grateful, but with an odd twist of emotion that seemed out of place in the blonde's tone.

The Boy Who Lived did not turn; staying, motionless, close to lifeless on the Room's floor. Listening. Footsteps; and a rustle; near. Draco sat just beside the black haired student.

"What is it?" curiosity more than compassion in the Slytherin's voice; yet there were traces of both.

Harry was silent, save for the sobs. What was there to say? He'd felt the world end: and been happy about it. Had caused it; for those few seconds, he'd well and truly become that twisted creature. Soul joyfully torn to the degree where it ceased to exist on any reasonable level, and murder reduced to the significance of dust. He did not care. Memories of Voldemort become tame.

Some things went beyond words. Some things cut too deep.

"I saw-" Harry began. Then stopped; no faltering, no stuttering. He just stopped.

What had he seen? The future, apparently; but he didn't want to admit it. The fact he had the potential for…that in him, disgusted him. The thought wouldn't leave him; flashes of that pale, twisted, scarred face.

"That's helpful," Draco muttered; traces of bitterness in his voice, but again, not entirely dominated by it. Then, softer; "Is there anything you will say?"  
>Silence again. Harry couldn't bring himself to speak. The events kept playing, again, and again, and again, and again… The floor was oddly fascinating; his eyes never left it. Featureless. Stone. Lifeless.<p>

An impossible feeling seized the room. Like fog; a thick fog, choking, stealing. Cold pervaded the air, and the mirrors began to frost. From out of the corner, a swirl of black; a cloak, a creature.

A Dementor.

Harry snapped. Those terrible memories, and now the wraiths appeared. Too much.

Quickly, he stood up; wand soon coming to hand. A flash of red light: no Patronus, simply spark upon spark, curse upon curse, using the Dementor more as a punching bag than anything, trying to let out all frustration. He screamed.

_And in his mind; no noise. For the first time, Voldemort was not present. Something far worse was. Streets littered with beating hearts; and the wizard, soulless, striding through. On his forehead, a-_

"No," Harry shrieked suddenly; Draco took a step back. Away from the impossibly present Dementor; away from the seemingly mad Harry. "_Expecto Patronum!_" Harry shouted the word, doing his best to conjure up happy memories; Sirius, his parents…

Nothing.

No wisp of white, no light, no shield, no stag.

Harry repeated the charm again; hoping at least for some reaction. Nothing. Malfoy didn't know how to cast a Patronus; and Harry's had faded to nothing; not even the basest flicker of light. The Dementor approached further-

And dispersed like smoke in the wind.

Seconds later, and it was hard to believe the Dementor had ever been there; no trace of the all-consuming sorrow, no darkness, no shred of the black cloak. A hallucination induced by the Room of Requirement, perhaps; the Room was certainly capable of many mystical feats.

"What was that?" Draco spoke, demanding almost. Harry fell to the floor; kneeling, then sitting before speaking. Broken.

"A test," the black haired boy's voice was thin, hollow. "The Room must have been testing me. I failed. I can't cast a Patronus now."

"Why?" Draco frowned; sitting beside the Boy Who Lived. He felt a strange sense of forbidding; whatever had caused an inability to cast a Patronus must have been awful, traumatizing.

A few more seconds of quiet. Harry couldn't just leave the conversation where it was; yet he still felt a reluctance to express the experiences.

"It happened days ago," a quiet start; the Boy Who Lived inhaled, resigned now to telling the story. "I ended up…somewhere else. Don't ask me how; I don't know. But there was the crystal ball there, changed somehow. A voice, called it 'Hybrid Technology'. I looked into the ball, and it showed me m-my future."

Harry was falling over his words to such a degree it was a small struggle to understand him. About a minute passed as Draco pieced together the segments. Then a little more time as he thought on it.

"What did you see?" the blonde's speech was faltering; not from any real fear, simply from tension. If it was enough to affect Harry's mind to the degree he could never achieve the happiness needed for any Patronus, it wasn't likely to be pleasant.

"Me," Harry hesitated; "But different. Pale, scar still there; I looked like Voldemort. And I-I'd killed everyone. Everyone. The streets were covered in hearts; their hearts. Horcruxes," Harry had started to rock slightly as he spoke, shaking; and the last word was scarcely more than an appalled whisper.

"Horcrux?" Draco murmured eventually; unwilling to admit the lack of knowledge yet, after skimming his brain, being unable to think of anything useful about the term, save for a vague, nagging familiarity.

"It's a word," Harry muttered; voice filled with a trace of emotion now; bitterness. "A magic I shouldn't even know about. Voldemort uses them. And I can tell you exactly how to make them, exactly how it feels, exactly the look in the victim's eyes," a shudder ran through Harry. "Voldemort uses them for immortality. A wizard can break their soul, and put part of it inside an object or animal, keep it outside the body. They _tear_ their soul in two."

"Merlin's…" Draco's voice trailed off, unable to complete the oath; surprised by the horror of it.

"Voldemort has seven," Harry murmured; barely audible now. "He killed someone for all of them. Every- every one."

"That-" Draco hesitated. This wasn't a situation anyone should be used to; "You can't have been as bad."

"I had billions!" the sentence started off as a quiet whisper; and soon became a shout. All the rage, the anger, the bitterness, the frustration, the confusion… All of it let out in one word.

Draco tensed; falling back a short distance. Purely involuntary; an action in response to the sudden yell, but Harry's tainted eyes saw it as simple proof that Draco was disgusted by him.

Mind wrecked to the degree it was impossible to produce a Patronus. Filled with the knowledge of abominable Dark Magic rituals. Given the memories of a timeline that should never come to pass; and able to remember the deaths of almost every man, woman and child on the planet. And pain, so much pain… The screams of the Captain Jack, the fires, the curses, the whimsical tortures… He'd duelled Bellatrix Lestrange; won, and put her through a hell even she would have balked at.

"It wasn't you," Draco shook his head eventually; speaking quietly, haunted. "Wasn't you doing it."

"You weren't there," Harry's voice was almost a spit now; repulsed. "I remember it. Every little detail in my head. I looked less human than Voldemort."

"You're not that creature," Draco shot back; not so much comforting, as arguing. It seemed to be what Harry needed. "You won't be."

"I might," Harry's voice rose to a broken shout. "It's still in me; and you don't, you can't know how that feels. A taint, it's right inside me, and I can't get rid of it!"

Silence. Then, Draco moved closer, slowly, until he was just to the side, and just in front of Harry. He met the black haired student's eyes; and stuck his arm out, forward, and bared the pale skin of his forearm. The blonde spoke after a few seconds; his Dark Mark exposed to the air.

"I know exactly how that feels."

O

River, Amy, Rory and the Doctor, all gathered in Dumbledore's office. The Headmaster had been with them, until he'd decided to leave upon realizing River had been making more than a few innuendoes on the correlation between age and experience.

Now the four time travellers sat there, thoughtful.

"Ok," the Doctor began, "Time to list. Students are going back in time, forward in time, and Bellatrix is probably wandering around somewhere, the timeline's wrecked, and we've got a Weeping Angel wandering around the castle. Have I missed anything?"

"Awful hats?" Amy suggested.

The Doctor shot her a look; not a particularly happy one at that. Luckily, he didn't notice River nodding thoughtfully, just beside him.

"What I'd like to know, is how the Angel got here," River muttered. The Doctor frowned; looking back at her. She stopped nodding.

"Oh, that's easy," the Time Lord shrugged. "Probably the same one as before."

"There was a before?" River rolled her eyes, "Ever think that it might be important?"

"Um…" the Doctor winced guiltily.

"What happened?" River asked before the Time Lord could comment again. The Doctor sighed.

"Well," he began, clapping his hands, inhaling. "There were two Weeping Angels, one with the Philosopher's Stone, one wandering around the castle and zapping everyone back in time. Trying to get to the Stone; and almost did, if I hadn't been remarkably clever, and hopped back in time."

"Ok, two questions," River rolled her eyes again; "What would an Angel want with the Philosopher's Stone, and what the hell did you do to make it this mad?"

"Well," the Doctor hesitated; a sinking feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, now River came to express it like that. He wasn't used to some emotions, as seemed all too evident sometimes; "The Angel then did have a wife… She was injured; I mean, really injured, couldn't even tell that she was an Angel. That's why it wanted the Philosopher's Stone; to cure her."

"And let me guess," River rolled her eyes yet again, irritated by the Doctor's, well, inhumanity. It wasn't that he tried to be cruel or heartless; but no matter how hard he tried, the Doctor would always be a Time Lord, with Time Lord tendencies, as well as his own eccentric mind. "You killed one, and let the other escape."

"Well," the Doctor looked down; "Kind of. I gave it a chance; you know I always do that. The living one died; and the other…actually, not sure what happened to it. I left her there, in front of-" the Doctor's voice cut off; semi-embarrassed, semi-on-the-verge-of-hitting-himself.

"In front of what?" River sighed. What'd he done this time?

"In front of the Mirror of Erised." The Doctor mumbled quickly; possibly hoping no one was paying any attention.

A few seconds of quiet. Rory blinked; and shrugged, looking away, without any past experience of Weeping Angels. Amy just shot a disbelieving glance at the Doctor, while River simply stared.

"Whatever holds the image of an Angel," Amy quoted; a sigh. A second passed; "Ok, seriously, do you just make things up as you go along?"

"Of course!" the Doctor seemed offended she'd think otherwise.

"Try not to," Amy groaned; "Or at least look out for mirrors when you're leaving an Angel around."

The Doctor winced slightly; looking momentarily guilty, before brightening, finding some vague silver lining. He looked up.

"Doesn't explain everything though," the Time Lord nodded once, hoping it would lessen his error

"I think it does," River murmured; semi-taunting, amused.

"Huh?" the Doctor blinked, surprised, "Can't do. People are going into the past, that could be the Angel, but plenty have ended up in the future too. Luna, that one at Storm-"

"It's the Angel," River interrupted. "Think about it."

"I am," the Doctor protested; "I always think. Well, mostly. An Angel probably can send people into the future, just a quick inversion of the temporal nexus sets, timeline streaming, simple stuff, but it's like swimming upstream; it'd have no reason to, it'd-" the Doctor's eyes widened. A pause; "Oh," then, a few seconds later, dull; "Oh," and finally, slumping back; excited and depressed by the realization. "Oh."

A few seconds passed; River with a triumphant smile, the Doctor slumped back in his chair; and Amy and Rory looking between them, confused.

"I get the feeling we missed something," Amy remarked conversationally to her husband. River responded.

"It's simple really, if you think about it," the time travelling woman met Amy's eyes; "The Angel doesn't normally send people into the future, because it uses up a lot of energy, and there's no potential to feed from; but this one had. It's intentionally using up a lot of energy, starving itself. When I first saw it, I could barely recognize it; wrecked, barely humanoid at all."

"Why?" Amy asked; leaning forward now, anxious to hear the answers.

"You tell me," River lay back; mildly smug. "How would you feel?"

Silence; thoughtful, and ever-so-slightly confused. Rory was just listening, unused to the Angels.

"I- I killed her partner," the Doctor spoke; voice a croak now. "Imagine- imagine Rory died, Amy; it happened before. Dream Lord. What did you do?"

"I-" Amy's eyes widened.

"Exactly," River spoke; "The Angel's killing itself, intentionally. I don't know what made it feed on a few people; the ones back in the past, but one thing it's definitely trying to do; it's trying to use up all the temporal energy it's accumulated, by flinging it into the future. It wants to die."


	10. Justice

**The next chapter! I'm a little evil, I should say that in advance. In any case, enjoy!  
>Also, please don't hate me. <strong>

Harry Potter; in the corridors of Hogwarts, stumbling forwards. Tentative. It'd been a while since he'd been any substantial time outside his dormitory, or outside the normally comforting Room of Requirement.

He was surprised the teachers hadn't acted against him yet; though from what he'd heard, the Doctor was to blame for that. Harry murmured a light thanks; one the Time Lord would never hear.

Draco had persuaded the Boy Who Lived: not much, his mind was too scarred for that, but enough: so now Harry wandered around, outside those two rooms, exploring. Perhaps he'd be able to return to lessons, maybe even begin teaching the DA once more. Maybe. Sometime.

"You're out," it was a child's voice; a girl's. The same girl as before; Harry gave a fond smile, surprising himself with the gesture. "You haven't been moving around for time."

"Lots of time," Harry murmured, resting against the wall; not turning around. That was almost habit now, with the girl. Her odd phrasing was fairly easy to understand, as long as he thought about it; "I guess I finally snapped out of it."

"You're happy?" the girls poke after several seconds; her speech still seemingly delayed. A trace of distrust in the normally emotionless voice.

"No," Harry's voice dropped to a murmur once more; "Doubt I'll ever be. But there are more important things than me." It was quite some time until the child spoke again; Harry was about to repeat himself, believing she hadn't heard.

"Like?" now, the girl's voice was soft: once more blank of feeling, but not heartlessly so. A pause.

"Everything," Harry murmured; a trace of depression. "I mean, there's Voldemort. Apparently only I can stop him; and Ginny wouldn't want me to be- to be like this. If I'm going to keep thinking about her, I- I don't think I'll forget her, I don't want to," Harry hesitated; contemplating, "Anyway, I- I know she wouldn't want me to stop doing, to stop being anything."

Harry fell silent; as was the young girl. Nothing to say; or no response to give. It was hard to tell. During the pause, Harry began to move; to leave, before being halted by the sound of the girl's voice.

It was odd; she wasn't speaking harshly, or demandingly: she wasn't being emotional, and yet Harry found himself moved by the girl's words, found himself obeying her. He identified so much with her; and it scared him. Her voice was a child's, yet she spoke with a maturity and a sadness that implied centuries.

"And?" once more, her speech was small; quick, as if it was a struggle to even voice that one word.

"And what?" Harry replied, hesitant. His voice was anything but happy, anything but the emotionless noise of the girl. Echoes of the tragedies which had stalked him were resplendent in his voice, it was hard to believe he wasn't in tears: somehow, he controlled it now. Used to it, perhaps; or simply, as suggested, living for Ginny.

"You said," the girl spoke after several seconds; a pause. Then; "Voldemort… do you want to," a pause for a few seconds; then, bizarrely, the girl used her voice in an inexplicable manner, enunciating two words simultaneously unable to decide which to say: "Kill/stop him?"

"I, uh-" Harry hesitated, caught off-guard by the complex combination of words in the simplistic voice. He stuttered before responding. "I don't think I want anything. I'll do what I have to; and see what happens from there."

Silence again. Behind the Boy Who Lived, the _Nameless_ Angel stood, still, despite her ability to move; none beheld her. She was thinking.

Others had suffered the same loss as her; she knew it would be the case, yet it was nonetheless moving to see such a victim before her, just steps away, talking. He'd survived; pulled through, after struggling, and collapsing…

But he hadn't known his wife for as long as she had known her husband. Centuries against months. But from what she'd fed upon, the potential of humans: they burned so, so brightly, lives rich with meaning and feeling. Perhaps their feelings could indeed be considered similar.

Would she ever recover? It seldom felt like it.

A look at her arm; stone worn, image faded. Like sand, held together by will. Not her will. She longed for nothing more than to return to that dust: an Angel could not die in any normal manner, she instead sought dormancy, with too little energy to even be capable of sentience.

And the Doctor. She had been hired and commanded: kill the Doctor. The man who killed her partner.

It should not be this hard. Reach out a hand: plunge him into the future, so, so far, wreck any of the energy she still had stored, and end his life by placing him in the right era.

Yet every time she neared him, she froze. She did not enjoy killing; everyone she'd warped through time had been targeted to a safer point in history, and all to the same point. It was those to the future she could not control; it was a wild action, a plunge forwards. She regretted it; but was comforted by the fact she would no longer be capable of regret should she be able to expel all the energy she'd obtained.

Oblivion. A strangely enticing thought.

"How could you not want revenge?" she spoke; voicing her own confusion, in a hope that Harry could aid her.

"How could anyone want it?" Harry retorted; shaken by the thoughts in his mind. _Revenge. Avada Kedavra, and steal their heart for a Horcrux_. The taint ever since his glimpse of that repulsive future; it still spoke to him. "I don't want to become him."

"Do not be a killer," the Angel whispered in the child's voice; monetarily overcome by an all-consuming guilt.

It was these people she'd attacked; flung them through time, torn apart families… Was she any better than the Doctor? Despite her conscious care for the individual, she'd been cold, cruel even to the families, the groups, the whole race. Perhaps her actions had been but a façade; to make it more bearable for herself. She couldn't be kind, flinging those children back in time. She could only ever be heartless.

No more; a vow. No more theft of potential, let them live as they can.

Except for one. One more person; one last touch, and one last push, to take a life and lose her own.

She hoped. It could not be long.

But who? Her mind soon went to that pale man, and the masked woman, the torturer. Yet that blinding pain forced her thoughts away; unused to any discomfort, due to life as stone, such agony was unthinkable.

The Doctor, then; a pang of guilt, yet so, so much less than she felt when thinking of other such students. To touch the Doctor, to take his life, force him into the future; past the destruction of the Earth, whirling through space as well as time. And to use all energy in doing so; and to become dust.

Perfect.

"Thank you," the Weeping Angel whispered. Silence.

"For what?" Harry tilted his head; confused.

The Boy Who Lived didn't know what to make of the young girl. Originally he was sure that she was a product of his imagination, a construct of the Room of Requirement; to comfort him.

Now she travelled the corridors of Hogwarts; and wasn't always comforting. Sometimes she helped, other times, she haunted. Harry didn't know what she was; but he'd grown not to care. Whoever the girl was, she needed help, and the part of Harry that hadn't been damaged by all his harrowing experiences, was his compassion.

"I don't want to kill," the young girl spoke; voice echoing. Then, almost inaudibly; "Unless I have to."

O

Draco Malfoy paced down the corridor, impatient, irritable. Too soon.

He kept his wand in his robes; but rested his hand on the hilt, the contact in addition to his temper singing his clothes. It was the wrong time. A groan; an irritated sigh.

The blonde found his way to the Room of Requirement, barging through the door. Manners weren't the first thing on his mind; neither was embarrassment, even as the whole DA turned to face him, mid-practise. The class lowered their wands, several Patronus charms flickering out, while the strong did one more lap of the room, peering down at Draco, before vanishing.

Malfoy couldn't help but feel impressed, for a distracting second or so; they were still able to practise such an advanced charm, with Harry unable to cast it. Had he told them? Malfoy didn't think so.

"Tonight," Draco spoke, cutting off his own thoughts with that word. "They're coming tonight."

Silence; confusion. No one was sure what the blonde meant; save of course, for Harry, who met the Slytherin's eyes, and watched the blonde's gaze dart towards his forearm.

"Who's this then?" Zacharias Smith sneered; the Hufflepuff had never been receptive to Draco's membership in the DA, even though the Slytherin rarely turned up. "Who's coming, your dad?"

Surprisingly, despite his impatience, Draco didn't shout at Smith's mocking. Instead, unnervingly calm, Malfoy turned, meeting the student's gaze and speaking, unflinching.

"Don't you wish," his voice was cold, yet not sneering, "The Death Eaters. They're attacking Hogwarts tonight; Fenrir Grey-back, Gibbon, Thorfinn Rowle, Alecto and Amycus Carrow, and," Draco hesitated for a moment; a shudder, "Bellatrix Lestrange."

The name-dropping had quite an effect. Most of the DA had learnt about the Death Eaters, mostly from Hermione; all the history, their exploits in the First Wizarding War. They doubted many others had such a depth of education, so when Draco could casually name some, even some fairly obscure ones, it was truly disconcerting.

"And how would you know?" Zacharias Smith challenged again, "Your dad tell you?"

It was at that point Draco snapped. He'd spent the last year trying to demonstrate that he was someone who could help, yet Smith saw him as no more than his father's son; which was little more than blatant hypocrisy. The DA challenged Voldemort's opinions on blood status, and yet Smith did the exact same.

The blonde strode across the room, closing the distance between himself and the Hufflepuff in a second, wand somehow in his hand halfway across the journey.

A ripple spread through the watching DA; partially concerned for Zacharias' safety, and partially annoyed with Zacharias and eager to see just what Draco would do.

They were mildly disappointed when all Draco did, was to move close to Smith; close enough to make the Hufflepuff take a step back, up against the wall. Malfoy lifted an arm, not his wand-arm though it held his wand, and pressed it against the wall, just over the student's shoulder; a flicker of fear on the Hufflepuff's face.

"No," Draco spoke; tight-lipped, cold, traces of his father surfacing. A flash; a ripple of air passed back from his wand, a non verbal spell, bringing his robe drifting back, exposing his pale, left forearm. "The Dark Lord told me himself. You might want to consider listen-"

A wave passed through the DA at the sight of Draco's arm. On the pale skin, as Malfoy knew, was the burnt, twisted Dark Mark: the sign of Lord Voldemort, and the sign of a Death Eater.

A Death Eater in the Room of Requirement.

Their brains went onto autopilot; an instinctive reaction against the feared sign. They forgot all Draco had said, all of what he was saying.

Even though the Slytherin had the best of intentions, for possibly the first time, he'd been naïve; he'd overestimated Harry's control of the DA, and judged most of them by the standards of the Boy Who Lived.

Several cries of "_Stupefy!_"

Many beams of red light, some hitting Zacharias (including Ron's, though he swore it was an accident), but three striking Draco's central back, and many other hitting other parts of the blonde.

He'd done the only thing he could to try and trigger a reaction in the DA: and he'd triggered one, just not the desired. Malfoy sank, stunned, to the floor.

Several quiet seconds. Almost a freeze-frame. The DA stood facing the stunned Malfoy, laying atop the similarly stunned Zacharias. Wands out and raised; the Dark Mark still faced the air. Draco's wand rolled along the floor, discarded.

Then, breaking the moment, Harry stepped forward; catching several students by surprise. It was one of the few times that the Boy Who Lived had taken the initiative in anything.

Though in all honesty, many couldn't believe it was this of all things that had prompted a reaction. All year passing, and it was in defence of a Death Eater that Harry stepped forward? It was possible that his one step had done more damage to the DA than the pending attack on Hogwarts would.

"What is this?" Harry spoke; arms open, by his sides, "Why?" He took in a deep breath, for once annoyed by the actions of the group; "Couldn't you see he was trying to help, he came to us, he said he was going to help, he was helping," Harry repeated the word 'help' again and again, growing ever-so-slightly louder with each one. A few people in the DA began to talk; Harry snapped, speaking over them in a fit of anger; a betrayal of his friend, and the after-effects on the repulsive vision of the future. It was surprising he didn't do more. "Quiet!" a shout; "He said the Death Eaters were coming. It looks like he would know; so if you don't want him to help, leave."

The Boy Who Lived surveyed the room, eyes drifting from person to person. He spoke once more, voice quietly kinder; yet just as resolute.

"I mean it," a pause, "I don't want you to do something you're unhappy with. If you don't want Draco to help us, leave."

And he watched as a surprising amount, just over half the DA took a semi-pitying, semi-disgusted look at Harry and the Dark Mark; and then walked out the room.

Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville, Colin Creevey and, surprisingly, Michael Corner stayed.

A smile from Harry; who then turned to Draco, ignoring Zacharias. Pointing his was at the Slytherin, he intoned: "_Ennervate_."

O

The Doctor peered at the Marauder's Map, scanning, thoughtful. Searching. It wasn't long before he found his target, exclaiming an 'ah-ha!' as he jabbed his finger down onto a spot of the Map.

Amy and Rory peered over his shoulder; confused, trying to read the elegant inked writing. The Doctor was pointing at a room of the castle, the trapdoor room; where Fluffy had dwelt in the first year. Beneath his finger was _Nameless_.

"You can't seriously be seeking that out," River spoke from a chair the opposite side of the office; she hadn't looked at the Map, apparently able to guess what the Doctor was going to do.

A pause; the Doctor seemed about to speak up, when Rory interrupted.

"She's right, you killed her partner, I don't think she's going to want to talk."

"Rory, Rory," the Doctor muttered, "Why do you always see the worst? She's met me before, remember? Me and River, to the past? She's not decided yet, not totally."

"She's a Weeping Angel," Amy stated; as if it were a point in itself, "Stone."

"She's alive," the Doctor shot back; "Most things have some kind of struggle when contemplating murder, even if the worst of us quash it quickly. She's had her chance, but I'm still here. So it's time to talk."

Amy's eyes widened in despair. In all honesty, it wasn't reason talking, so much as a prejudice against the Angels. They'd been in her head before, convinced her she was turning to stone, controlled her voice... It wasn't an experience she was eager to repeat.

"That's his 'you're not going to stop me' face," River threw out, voice seeming indifferent, somehow amused. "I'd give up if I were you. He does what he wants when he's like this," River licked her lips, "Sometimes it's harmless, sometimes he scuba dives into a gas giant."

The Ponds blinked, frowning as they looked up at the time travelling woman. She just smirked, and gestured towards Dumbledore's desk; they looked, just in time to see that the Map was gone, and the gargoyle slowly descending.

"He can be fast sometimes too," River said, voice rife with suggestiveness.

The Doctor sprinted through the corridors, hopping from rotating staircase to rotating staircase, eager to find the Angel before it moved on. Where it was now, there was no risk to others, should things turn ugly. It was better to keep it that way.

River, Rory and Amy were probably planning to follow him; which was why he needed to get this done as quickly as possible. No interference. A grim smile on his face; his hand entered his pocket, twirling the sonic screwdriver once. He was unarmed, in essence: nothing that could harm the Angel or protect him from it, nothing but his eyes; and even he'd need to blink sometimes. This was just the way he liked it.

About a minute later, and the Time Lord fell through the door, peering up with a grin.

In the centre of the room was a grey woman, a statue seemingly. Eyes open; staring down at the floor; the now-solid-stone floor, trapdoor long since filled in. No wings; eroded too far, and coarse, chipped arms and body. The only thing that marked it as a Weeping Angel was the Doctor's knowledge; it could just as easily be mistaken for natural rock.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said, hoarse, after several long seconds. "Please, I- I didn't want to do any of this; let me speak, please."

He shut his eyes.

It was the only thing to do; demonstrate absolute trust. His life in the hands of the woman whose husband he'd killed. Maybe not the safest situation, but it was needed. True repentance.

Yet somehow, he did manage to survive.

There was silence; for quite some time, maybe a little too much time; and, slowly, rigid pressure was applied to the back of his neck, just on the top of his coat. Threatening; but the instant before it became too uncomfortable, the increase in intensity stopped.

"Why?" the girl's voice again; the Doctor paused. It was a pain, being unable to look at them; he was always proud of his eyes, he'd perfected stares that could scare a serial killer, eyes that bored into your soul, or eyes that comforted, eyes that couldn't help but make you laugh.

He could hear her though; hear her all too well. She was crying, and it was all the more moving, given the age of the girl she'd stolen the voice from. The tear-stricken words of a first year: it sang to every instinct of the Doctor's. He couldn't harm her.

"Why?" the Doctor mumbled eventually, still speaking and thinking fast, "Why- um, why should I speak? Well, I- I uh wanted to say sorry, really. I know it's not enough…it's never enough. But I am; I really, really am."

There was silence again. The Doctor was shaking; not from fear, he'd resigned himself to what was to come. It was the consequences; he couldn't help but wonder, what of all the other lives out there, all the worlds he'd touched, would touch? Did they all have families such as this? How many innocents had he hurt?

"You're a murderer," the girl's voice was simple; as were her words. Again, flooded with motion: the Doctor could picture the original child. Short, First Year, the kind with long hair, very long, so that it almost formed a jacket; a pale red/blonde, the sort that'd always grin, always smile. And yet the Time Lord could also see, in his mind's eye, a drop of water fall from the stone eye of a statue.

"No-" the Doctor hesitated, "Yes, I suppose. Not by choice. There's just- just never another way," heartbreak in his tone now. Nothing compared to the Angel's emotion; but it seemed to have an effect. Almost half a minute later, the Angel responded, slowly, a little less sadness in her voice; somehow mellowed by the Doctor's display of feeling

"You…regret?"

"Always," the Doctor responded; he didn't hesitate for even a second. "Every time, I search for a different way, I need a different way; when all else fails, I give them a chance. I just wish- I'd just wish more of them would take it."

Silence. They could both remember the time in the room below Hogwarts: with the Mirror of Erised behind them, Philosopher's Stone almost in reach. This Angel was in marginally worse condition than she was now; but only marginally. And the other, proud, perfect, faced the Doctor.

_One last chance. A shining silver blade in the Time Lord's hand: the Weeping Angel reached forward, intent on feeding-_

_And the Sword, obeying instincts programmed into it, absorbed all such temporal potential from within the Angel. It crumbled to dust._

The Doctor had given it a chance; he knew he had. But would the other Angel see it that way? Maybe, maybe not. The Time Lord tensed; a tear slowly trickling down his cheek at the memory.

"It as his fault?" the girl's voice was very nearly emotionless now; yet the Doctor could recognize that edge to it, that warning.

"No," the Time Lord shook his head. "No, nothing like that. It was my fault, I- I should have done something else, found a different way." A tentative few seconds ticked past, before the Doctor got up the courage to say what he wanted to:

"Don't forgive me," the Doctor's words resounded for a few seconds. He repeated; "Don't forgive me. I know you don't want to, and it'd be a lie to do otherwise. And don't try to forget, remember me, _hate _me if you have to; as long as you feel, as long as you remember that you, are, alive," he emphasized the last few words, taking in deep breaths between each.

"I cannot move on," it was odd; hearing such a young voice speak in such away; yet now, devoid on emotion, under control. It was hard to tell just what the Angel really felt. "Yet you can. I have met a boy; Harry Potter. He is me. Partner stolen; yet he goes on. And does not hate the killer," a slow pause; "Why doesn't he hate the killer?" Almost a minute passed; the Doctor opened his mouth to speak, again, when the Angel said something else, voice now that of a young woman, mature, and brimming with tragic feeling, a cry: "Why don't _we _hate?"

Silence. The Doctor felt the Angel's hand on his neck loosen; she had promised herself that's he'd do this, maroon the Doctor in the future, avenge her husband, and join him. But she could not.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor could only say that; simply.

The thing that touched the Angel the most, was how the Time Lord genuinely cared. She'd threatened him, done harm quite possibly to his friends; yet he still cared about her, enough to try and help. It seemed impossible for one man to hold so much compassion. And how was she repaying him?

"Do you have a name?" it was the Doctor; quite some minutes later, the Angel's hand still pressing on his back; yet the statue was silent.

"I don't need one," was the eventual response; traces of regret in the girl's voice.

"Oh, everyone needs a name," the Doctor sighed; suddenly, somehow relaxed, even with his fate one thought from being decided. "Would you like one?"

"I-" a long pause now; almost a minute. The Angel's stolen voice, the young girl, was all the more poignant. Then: "I'd like that."

"What do you think then?" the Doctor grinned; stepping forward, easily and fearlessly leaving the Angel's grip; he turned around, eyes still closed to give the Angel freedom, yet he gesticulated as if he could see. The Angel made no motion to return the Time Lord to her grip. "What's a good name?" the Doctor tilted his head; "Ace? Barbara? Bella? Tegan? Peri- no, not that,"

"Ginny," sadness still in the Angel's voice. "In remembrance."

The Doctor froze, mid-gesture. "I- yeah," he mumbled; it was one thing he hadn't expected, if it was a prejudice, or if the Angel was unusual, but he wasn't expecting such a display of, well, _humanity_. "Good name."

O

Draco had lead the small pocket of the DA; Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Colin and Michael, to that part of the castle where the vanishing cabinet stood. The Death Eaters were soon to come through; he'd described as best he could what was happening, and now they waited.

They'd played with the idea of getting teachers involved; but even that, Draco feared. He hadn't shared the last past of his mission: _Kill Dumbledore_.

And even so, what were they to say? A young Death Eater had told them of the plot; and when they asked 'who?' what would happen to Malfoy? Harry had vetoed the idea almost immediately.

Tentative, Malfoy stepped forwards; slowly opening the cabinet.

He might've been able to not do so; but then what? As soon as he left the castle, Bellatrix, Voldemort, the rest of them would descend; who knew what they'd do? Draco didn't like pain; and in addition, he'd never yet tried to resist _Imperio_, and did not want to try.

And then, all thought was at an end; the Death Eaters began to walk through the vanishing cabinet, appearing one by one. The first was stunned by a jet of light from Hermione; and the rest were on guard. Draco ran back, trying to take cover, as the rest of Voldemort's Army fought against the tiny fraction of Dumbledore's Army.

O

The Doctor strode out of the room, smiling broadly. Sometimes, things ended well; while it was far from perfect, this was one of the best endings he'd found. The Weeping Angel, reformed, and while not cheered, unwilling to force herself over the threshold to death.

River, Amy and Rory stood just outside the room, River just ahead of them, distinctly unimpressed, tapping her foot.

"Hello," the Doctor beamed, oblivious to her annoyance, "Meet Ginny!"

"You named a statue," River stated dryly.

"You're such a…an archaeologist," the Doctor muttered despairingly to himself, before clapping his hands, whirling out the sonic screwdriver, buzzing it at River. The woman's eyes widened, hearing her vortex manipulator, "Fixed! The Doctor clapped his hands, still twirling the screwdriver, "And before we end up yelling at each other," the Doctor winced at River's moderately flirtatious expression, "I'd suggest you head back, rescues all the students in the past. And maybe head back a couple of years; you know I was here before."

"It's a date," River flashed a grin; "See you back then, bye!"

Rather abruptly, there was a flash of light; and River Song was gone. Amy and Rory blinked, a little disturbed; though River was used to such departures. They'd meet again; she knew it. A better farewell could be done then; and a much better farewell, when he was a little older.

"So," the Doctor began, intending to explain things, twirling the screwdriver once more, intending to pocket it on the next-

"_Expelliarmus!_" a jet of light shot across the room; an instant too fast for the Time Lord. It struck him; and though he remained standing, the sonic was flung out of his hands, clattering along distant stone floor.

Amy, Rory and the Time Lord all looked one direction; towards the source of the interrupting curse. It didn't take long to find it; or rather, her. A cruel smile, as she surveyed the now defenceless trio, and the stone Angel near them.

"_Crucio!_" she shrieked; relishing the word, and relishing how the two humans fell, contorted to the floor; and how even the Doctor flinched, screamed, despite somehow being able to stand. What she relished most of all however, was the Weeping Angel: unable to react, yet tortured beyond words behind that stone visage.

"We warned you," Bellatrix whispered; voice alternating between yells of curses, and harsh, dangerous whispers. "Which of you shall I kill first?"

Her eyes went from Doctor, to Angel, to Amy, to Rory. Then, a smile, as she picked one at random; she saw no purpose in debating, they'd all die, soon enough. Bellatrix Lestrange raised her wand; pointed at Amy.

Rory's eyes widened.

Then, almost bored, the Death Eater intoned: "_Avada Kedavra!_"

A flash of green light; it whirled through the air, illuminating every imperfection in the stone below, cutting through even gas. And came to a halt, spattering along instantly-lifeless human flesh.


	11. Lost Once More

**Um...yeah. Hello, I'm dramatic. And evil.  
>Te conclusion of Loss is here, and hopefully it's worth it. And probably a little dramatic. Very long chapter, but hopefully worth it.<br>Also, for those that have been struggling to find it, I'm uploading the first chapter of the seventh story around now too. Which is also dramatic, and maybe a little over-the-top.  
>Oh, and naturally, expect several annoyingly loose ends. And cliffhangers. Enjoy!<strong>

So much happened in a heartbeat. Rory looked from Bellatrix, to his wife: and a choice was made, though to him, there was no choice involved. He leapt sideways, the word on his lips, his last word: "Amy!"

That was the first event: the killing curse striking his chest, as he fell backwards into his wife's arms. And in the same split second, as a tear fell from the redheaded woman's eyes, Bellatrix scowled, lifting her wand once more-

The Weeping Angel, now named Ginny, moved forwards; taking advantage of everyone's distractions. She ran with all the energy she had: Amy looked down at Rory, Rory looked up at death. The Doctor had blinked at the intensity of the green light, and Bellatrix had flung her gaze skywards, in preparation for one more killing curse. No time had passed.

And in the next second, Amy looked up; Rory had gone from her arms, after shimmering a pearly grey for a split second: and Bellatrix had almost gone, now replaced by just a pile of grey dust.

One word on the Doctor's lips: hoarse. "Ginny."

"W-what?" Amy spoke eventually; voice shaking, eyes visibly moist. "W-what did she…" her voice trailed off; eyes soon descending to her empty arms. Rory. Gone.

"The Angel," the Doctor whispered; "She helped us- tried to help us, this time. That's why Rory was in the past; Ginny, the Angel, she-"

"You said you trusted her!" Amy's voice rose to a shout.

What she felt couldn't be called anger. It was too deep for that; far, far too deep, and yet was also so different to that emotion. She wasn't rational; few could be, after their husbands dying and vanishing in their arms. It was kind of a fear; a fear that Rory, this time, was truly gone, a fear that she wouldn't be able to see him again, in any form, and a fear of consequences, a fear of some, permanent change in her life: a rarity since she began to travel through time.

The Doctor had never spoken such words; and they both knew that, but Amy couldn't bring herself to care. She knew that the Doctor wouldn't name the Angel after someone like Ginny, nor would he walk with it as if it were a friend, if he didn't trust it. So, in a manner of speaking, he had stated the words, if not with his voice.

"I did- I do," the Doctor quickly spoke; "She was helping, as best she could, the only way she could. She needed energy, potential to feed off from; even just small burst, if she was to reach Bellatrix before we looked up; turned her stone. It was all she could do." The Doctor's voice was oddly broken; no other choice, but that didn't mean he was happy about it.

"She should have left Rory alone," Amy mumbled, still on the floor, curling up a small way, knees pulled to her chest. Sulking might be the best word; yet there was more emotion than childish irritation, so much more: a sense of complete loss.

"Who else?" the Doctor's voice demanded; a flash of surprising anger, a flash of craziness; raging against the immutability, the laws of time. "He was already- already," the Doctor, for once, fell silent. It was strangely hard to say those words; not an experience he was familiar with. Death. Such an easy word, and an inescapable event. Why the fear? He did not know.

"He had nothing more to lose," the Doctor eventually settled upon.

There was silence. Amy pulled herself together, tighter; tears now freely flowing. It was too much, too much to happen again.

"Can we stop it?" It was her last hope; and despite the water in her eyes, she said it quickly, urgent, "Can we? Time can be rewritten. You always say it; _time can be rewritten_, can we, please…" her voice trailed off. Broken.

"No," the Doctor knelt down beside Amy; tender, soft now. He rested his hand on her cheek, trying to get her to look up; "I'm so sorry Pond. This is something we can't change."  
>"Why not?" real anger, frustration in Amy's sorrowful voice, as she peered up.<p>

Her eyes could barely be seen; rippling, each an ocean, full of water, of tears. He was gone. Yet the Doctor was able to meet those two orbs, and somehow controlled his own emotion, his own urge to break down in such a way; and he spoke of comfort, or hope, staring into Amy's eyes with his own, piercing gaze. The tears felt like air.

"He's part of events," the Doctor tried to skim over the science; it wasn't what Amy needed to hear. "He helped us before, he had to, so it was necessary. He's brilliant though, you know that? Really, utterly brilliant."

Silence. Amy stared up at the Doctor; she didn't speak now, she couldn't; and she barely listened, more concerned with the way the light rippled through her tears. At just the right angle, there were shapes, blurs. They reminded her of him. Everything reminded her of him.

"Not many people could do what he's done," the Doctor spoke; quickly, a semi-eulogy. His babbling wasn't for Amy; it was for himself, he needed something to do, to say, he couldn't face another life on his conscience. "He waited centuries, and he was brave enough to save you, Amy, so, so many times. A Weeping Angel died, to honour that," the Time Lord's gaze wandered to the pile of grey dust; the dust that had once been an Angel. "He was incredible."

Silence. The Doctor found himself pressing his lips to Amy's forehead; not a romantic gesture, purely paternal, an effort to comfort. He'd made mistakes like this before; leaving people when they were in distress, when they were sad. It had happened to the Angel also: she'd been left, alone, after witnessing her partner's death.

The Time Lord found his thoughts drifting to Ginny the Weeping Angel. Put through so much tragedy she tried to take her own life; and enslaved by Bellatrix it seemed, the Death Eater forcing the Angel to feed, to go on living, until she killed the Doctor. No one deserved that.

One thing that frequently scared the Doctor, was the depths of depravity to which some humans could go. Not all by a long shot; some humans impressed him with their benevolence. Some humans however, they consistently did more and more evil than the Doctor was willing to imagine anyone capable of.

They were alone now. Amy and the Doctor; as it began. Deep inside Hogwarts, night fast approaching, none wandering near the two.

Alone. The thought was strangely comforting; no more interference. They had a chance to think, to let the sadness wash through them. To cry.

Muffled sobs still fell from Amy's curled up form. The Doctor sat himself down beside her, to comfort, to do the best he could to help; resting an arm on the redhead's shoulder. Too often before, he hadn't been there when his companions needed him. Not this time.

The Doctor, for once, didn't mind waiting. He stayed by the inconsolable woman, quiet; his presence intended to comfort, as well as the gentle, warm hand just on her back. It was enough to keep him there; so many other times, he'd have walked away, bored of the slow tick of time; yet now, Amy's sadness kept him fixed in the present. She needed some sort of help; and that's what the Doctor specialized in.

The Time Lord was about to speak, to break the silence, when something else caught his attention; a momentary flash of light, just ahead. Hesitant, worried for Amy, he looked up.

Bellatrix Lestrange; hair wilder than ever, and her metal mask scorched. She glared, lifting her wand in fury. Yet she looked strangely similar to the Bellatrix responsible for Rory's- the one Ginny the Angel had flung to the end of the universe, or beyond.

The Doctor's mind raced; Bellatrix wasn't even supposed to have time travel, but now it seemed she not only had it, but also had a form which could change course and implement said course for safety, in a split second, while whirling through the vortex at an accelerated rate. That was fearsome technology; few things could be said to possess such advanced time travel.

"Stay!" her voice was wild; cold. Anger was too mild a word; a blazing, icy, eerily controlled fury.

One thing that could be said about Bellatrix, even normally, she was unstable; yet she very rarely grew more unstable, giving such anger as this the impression of being controlled, yet with the potential to erupt at any second. Her hand quivered; wand still pointed to the unarmed Doctor and crying Amy.

"No one," the witch's wild voice cut through the silent room. Neither Amy nor the Doctor wanted to speak, "No one tries to kill me."

The Doctor's eyes looked up from Amy. Burning. Seconds ago, he was quiet, now, he simmered with a wrath akin to Bellatrix's; maybe greater, one great enough to make even Amy shudder, despite her sadness.

"And no one kills my friends," the Doctor, quiet, resolute. "There's a lesson for you. If you walk out of here, remember that: one thing you never, ever do, not if you want to see the Sun again, not if you have any plans for the future, not if there's anything you're planning to accomplish: never, _ever_, ever, hurt my friends. I'm the Doctor, and I-"

"The Oncoming Storm!" Bellatrix gave a gleeful cackle; switching moods in an unsettling instant. Her eyes hardened; wand moving to point to the Doctor; "You'll die last. I want to see you give up hope."

Her words were spoken in scarcely more than a whisper; shaking with some sick sense of excitement, anticipation. Her eyes met the Doctor's blazing orbs. Wand raised.

"_Crucio!_" a screech; agony striking the Doctor. And this time, he didn't even wince, taking one, slow, hesitant step forwards; yet closer to Bellatrix Lestrange. Fear flickered across her face; her favourite weapon, pain, seemed useless. Well, the magic was; she'd have time later to experiment. Her hand ran soothingly over the handle of her knife, before muttering a quick banishing charm, and flinging the Doctor back, violently, to the stone wall.

A savage grin crossed Bellatrix's face; her gaze returning to the kneeling, crying Amy. A sadistic smile. Wand pointed to the redhead. A curse formed in her throat, willing and excited to send jolts of agony through Amy.

"_Cr_-"

"No!" the Doctor shouted, struggling to his feet; Bellatrix gave him an irritated look, pinning him against the wall with another quick curse. A gasp of pain, before the Time Lord spoke again; "No! Don't hurt Amy, can't you see she's been through enough?"

"It's never enough," Bellatrix muttered savagely; instead sending a Cruciatus curse running through the Doctor; this time, he did scream. Music to her ears.

"Don't hurt her," the Doctor said; shouting now; "Please, just don't hurt her."

"You don't want me to cause her pain?" Bellatrix's voice took on the simpering, mocking, child-voice she used so often. Her eyes bored into the Doctor's; full of loathing, despite her pale, thin mouth twisted into an unsettling smile.

"Y-yes," the Doctor exhaled eventually, feeling himself be lifted up the wall a small way, press against the stone. "Just stop- just stop hurting her."

There was silence for a short while; punctuated only by Amy's tears. Rory had gone.

Bellatrix stood, wand pointed at the two time travellers. Dust lay scattered over the floor; the grey, lifeless Angel. And Amy was curled up, foetal position, on the cold stone floor, the Doctor behind her, pressed against the wall, a metre or so in the air. Then, disturbingly, Bellatrix began to smile.

"Very well," the Death Eater chimed, eyes moving once more to Amy: heartless. "I shall cause her no pain."

They both knew exactly what she was planning an instant before she did it. The Doctor struggled against his magical bonds, shouting, screaming 'No!' and Amy tensed, but made no other noticeable reaction. Bellatrix Lestrange gave a cruel, callous glance down at the redhead, jabbing her wand at Amy Pond.

Once more, she shrieked the fatal curse: "_Avada Kedavra!_"

O

Michael Corner, Colin Creevey, Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger against an army of Death Eaters. One of Voldemort's followers had fallen, stunned, at the start; and as such, the rest were prepared. They were struggling to move too far from the vanishing cabinet; but they'd choreographed themselves well, if such a term could be applied. An elaborate, deadly dance; two cast shield charms, easily repelling the curses and hexes thrown haphazardly by the DA: and a third, still inside the cabinet, flung bolts of red and green light.

Draco took several, quick steps back, moving away from the Death Eaters; wand still raised, deflecting as many spells as he could, until he stood by Harry's side; Fenrir Grey-back's eyes flashed dangerously from the side of the cabinet, and instead of recasting the shield charm, he flung a whirling, green killing curse forwards.

Draco hesitated; and it was Harry who moved, pushing the blonde sideways, and then darting back himself, letting the curse shoot past them.

Ron and Hermione were to the left of the central duo; Neville and Luna to the right; Colin and Michael moved around quickly, Colin as hyperactive as ever, relying more on movement than shield charms.

The DA had the advantage, initially; they could move, there were more of them, and they had the best position: the Death Eaters however were more practised at the fighting arts, and were willing to take as many lives as needed. Fenrir stepped back, putting all the strain of shielding on the other frontal wizard, before muttering _Imperio_. Michael Corner stiffened.

"_Expelliarmus!_" the controlled student shouted, eyes wide, doing his best to resist the Imperius curse; and failing, the disarming charm rattling through the air and striking Ron. The redhead looked around, disbelieving; before nodding in gratitude to Colin, who levitated the wand back into its owner's hands.

Michael moved jerkily, lifting his wand again, jabbing it forwards; but whatever curse he was planning was never found out, Neville taking a moment to look back, casting a stunning charm.

The first of the DA had fallen; and not by the spell of a Death Eater.

After that point, things began to fall downhill. Voldemort's followers were able to move further out of the cabinet; one more joining them, making them five, though only four were conscious and able to face the DA. A jinx managed to break through the shield charm, striking Neville; luckily it wasn't a particularly harmful one, though the boy did collapse for a moment, shuddering.

Killing curses became increasingly common, as the Dark Wizards grew more impatient; all missing, thankfully, chipping the stone walls. The formation the DA had created soon fell, as they ran to avoid the unblock-able curse. And still the duel went on; flashes of light, with light in response.

"_Imperio!_" this time, the Unforgivable Curse came from the lips of Draco; Harry shot a surprised look, and several others looked outraged. Colin blinked; distracted just long enough for a spell to strike him, knocking him to the floor. It was all too long before anyone realized it had been the killing curse.

Malfoy stood behind Harry; relying on the Boy Who Lived to defend him. It was hard to focus on controlling another's mind in addition to your own; though Draco had all too much practise. A Death Eater; it was burnt into his skin, literally. He was willing to cast the spells the others found so repugnant, and he could do it with ease.

No unexpected results from within the Death Eater group however; Draco made sure of it, instructing the mind of Rowle to do nothing unexpected. A few more seconds passed, populated by shouts and hexes, gradually letting the Dark Wizards' guard fall, thinking he'd failed-

"_Stupefy!_" Rowle grunted, swinging his wand sideways and knocking Fenrir to the floor; one of the other two flung a killing curse towards Draco, distracting the blonde enough to break his hold; but not until after he'd been able to add a subtle command to Rowle's mind.

One more step out; the three still-standing wizards duelled, easily holding their own against Neville, Luna, Ron, Hermione, Harry and Draco. Alecto and Amycus Carrow, alongside Thorfinn Rowle; Alecto turned his gaze to Ron and Hermione, Amycus to Neville and Luna, with Rowle, furious, looking to Harry and Draco.

Bellatrix Lestrange, the final witch, stepped out of the vanishing cabinet.

Draco met her eyes, once, and tensed; stepping back slowly. Watching her all the while; she unleashed a streak of green light, utterly uncaring about the lives around her, separating Ron and Hermione with her first curse. Not one spell left her wand that wasn't intended to be fatal.

Now five steps behind Harry, tentative, Draco looked around the room; Luna to Neville to Harry to Ron to Hermione, and then the Death Eaters fighting, valiant and victorious, in the centre of the room. He hesitated.

"_Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!_" the blonde repeated the hex five times; quick, barely giving anyone enough time to turn as he shouted.

Each struck by a lightning-fast stunning spell, caught completely by surprise, the DA fell to the floor; save for Harry, the last to be 'struck'; and in that case, ever-vigilant, Malfoy flung the curse straight over Harry's shoulder, watching it fizzle away on the shield. For a moment, the Boy Who Lived paused; before realizing just what he was supposed to do, and crumpled to the floor, in a passable imitation of being stunned.

From the vanishing cabinet, the four Death Eaters looked, weary, at the blonde; Malfoy lowered his wand, returning the gazes of the bitter Rowle, Alecto and Amycus, and even the wild stare of Bellatrix.

"You took your time getting here," Malfoy spoke with a sneer, one all too easy to regain. "I even brought you Dumbledore's pathetic little Army as a warm-up."

"You arranged this?" Alecto spoke; glaring. He muttered a charm, rejuvenating Gibbon and Fenrir, the stunned Death Eaters

"Of course," Draco gave an uncaring chuckle, "Thought you'd enjoy the sport."

"He's telling the truth," Rowle spoke; acting out the command Draco had left in his mind with the Imperius curse; an instruction to remember events as different, "He told me. Wanted to wait until we were all here before he ended the game."

A pause. The werewolf Fenrir Grey-back strode to Malfoy, exhaling bestially, tilting his head as he regarded the blonde. He was so much like the wolf, even in his human form.

"You're sure?" Fenrir spoke, "I smell fear on him."

"The Dark Lord trusts me," Draco responded quickly; deceptively calm, "Is it possible you do not?"

Silence once more. Bellatrix walked forwards into the room, pacing, kicking the pale, lifeless Colin. A smile greeted her lips.

"We should kill them," Alecto broke the quiet. "Make sure."

"Oh, no Alecto," Bellatrix simpered; voice cruel as ever, yet taking on that mocking baby-tone Draco had grown to loathe, "Imagine their expressions when old daddy Dumbledore's dead before them."

At that, even Fenrir smiled.

"We should get going," Draco spoke, "You lot wasted enough time with your incompetence."

It made the blonde tense to have to turn his back on the Death Eaters; especially after those lies; but it was all he could think of, the only way to save what little remained of the split DA. They weren't going to win; and that was all too obvious; so he was forced to 'change' allegiances once again.

It gratified him to hear Gibbon, Rowle, Bellatrix, Alecto, Amycus and Fenrir follow; though a few were more distrusting. Malfoy smiled; his practise at deceit had paid off. For now, the DA was safe; but now the blonde worried about the headmaster of Hogwarts.

Several minutes later, after hearing the Dark Wizards depart, Harry sat up. A few more seconds; inhaling, exhaling, quiet. Then, still nearly silent, Harry muttered "_Ennervate_," on the nearest student; Michael Corner. The DA member sat up, blinking; looking around.

"What happened?" Michael muttered, looking around. The Death Eaters were gone.

"Draco," Harry murmured, still a little breathless from having to pose as stunned. "He tricked them. I think he saved us. Pretended to be one of them; stunned us."

"If you say so," Michael replied; not sceptically, instead actually showing some trust in Harry's judgement. He stretched, patting the ground until he found his wand.

"Can I ask," Harry began, welcoming the distraction from his thoughts, curious, "Why did you agree with Draco? You were never one of the more…" Harry's voice trailed off, unsure of how to continue

"That?" Michael chuckled darkly; "Easy. Ginny."

Harry winced as he spoke her name; Corner noticed, voice growing softer as he continued.

"I dated her as well Harry, don't forget. You're not the only one that cared; and I learnt to trust her judgement. She trusted you, so I do."

"Thanks," Harry smiled gratefully. He still had someone's trust; that was good. And Ginny was still helping it, it felt like. Her sheer likability providing an ally.

A creak from the vanishing cabinet; Yaxley, the final Death Eater, stepped through. Harry was too lost in his thoughts, once more, to notice; almost casually, Michael shot a stunning charm through the air, striking the Death Eater before he could react.

O

The killing curse spiralled through the air; oddly graceful a sit moved. Time seemed to stop; as did Amy's body. Her eyes were focused, lost in the captivating light. Green, mostly spherical, with so many sparks shooting off, an aurora-like haze forming around it, a blur. A jet of green light propelled off the sides, unstable, as if it would explode at any second.

Despite all that, the killing curse stayed together, coming so, so close. Then, in what felt like an instant, the green struck Amy Pond, just below her neck. A blink; the green light dissolved into her crackles still running along her skin as it dissipated. One second.

Then an odd sensation; truly indescribable, as something within her _lifted_, lighter than air, over every spot the killing curse touched. She closed her eyes; feeling odd, above the clouds, above the world. On top of the world; strangely ecstatic.

Was this…death?

It was then Amy became aware of the screaming. A woman's scream? Agonized, to be sure; and yet, more than physical pain. No, it wasn't hers.

Bellatrix?

Amy opened her eyes; to see the tangled dark hair of the Death Eater, the wild, wide eyes, the pale face; screaming, for once in something so much like real fear. Her wand still pointed forwards; yet her hands held it, loose.

She dropped the wand. Such a mild action; and then the screams reached a crescendo for scarcely a second, before a rush of air whirled around the witch, impossible, some kind of magic; a crackle of green, a flame; the burning drew inwards, the ripple seemingly in reality itself. A flash of green; the smell of ash, and nothing more stood where Bellatrix Lestrange had been.

The Doctor fell to the floor, no longer supported by magical; an ungraceful end to the event.

"W-what happened?" Amy spoke; shaken. Looking up; she was alive. Still alive. Somehow; but she'd seen the killing curse touch her.

"Like master, like servant," an uncharacteristic flash of icy coldness in the Doctor's eyes.

"She- I-" Amy stuttered; breathless. The sight of the witch's…demise? The feel of the killing curse on her flesh. It felt so real; still present. "Is she-"

"She's dead," the Doctor said, simply. Then, looking down, as if only just realizing Amy was there, his eyes mellowed; turning soft in an instant. A smile; "You can thank Rory for that, no really, thank him," the voice of the Time Lord she knew so well; always willing to ramble and explain. "He loved you. He died for you; sacrificed himself, even though he didn't have to. The magic in his system, the same that let him become a ghost- like Lily Potter. Like Harry. He protected you from the curse."

"R-Rory saved me?" Amy spoke eventually, once the Doctor's words had sunken in.

The Time Lord nodded; and Amy looked down, and cried.

Rory's ghost drifted into the room; and watched them. He'd wanted to come; but he'd been too late. Oh, too late. And they didn't need him any more; Amy wouldn't want to see him now.

Smiling sadly, the spectre turned away.

O

The Lightning-Struck tower: Dumbledore stood atop it, looking out over the grounds of Hogwarts before, sadly, turning back; wind whipped his robes as he beheld the Death Eaters.

Draco and Bellatrix stood at the head of the group; with Snape standing a small way back from them. The rest of the invading force were far back, in the tower, duelling with the few members of the Order present.

Draco took one step closer to the headmaster, wand in hand; tense. How could he get out of this? Silence; he could feel Rowle's suspicious eyes on him, Bellatrix's glare, Snape's urgent surveillance.

Hesitant, trembling though he tried to hide it, Draco lifted his wand; pointing the tip towards the elderly headmaster. He didn't want to; oh, he really didn't want to.

A footstep; echoing in the silence. On the cold stone of the tower. A crack of thunder; and silence again, it seemed. It was Snape; Draco didn't have to turn to figure that one out, it was Snape moving closer, trying to help as he'd tried to throughout the year.

"No, Severus," Dumbledore was the first to speak; gently lifting one hand, gestured for the potions master to stop. "Let the boy make his own choice."

Snape stopped; caught by surprise, yet obeying. Bellatrix shot a sharp look sideways; and Draco took one more, nervous, step towards the headmaster of Hogwarts. He was closer to the elderly man than he was to the Death Eaters now. Any of the braveness he felt earlier had evaporated; he was no more than a student, just a student, out of his depth, challenging the greatest wizard who'd ever lived, and serving the darkest wizard. Cold, shivering; the wind bit into his skin.

Quietly, Albus Dumbledore moved closer to the blonde; the shaking blonde, moving to the tip of his wand, standing directly in his range for a moment. Then, just as silent, smoothly, he moved to the wise of the wand, Draco's arm still pointing forwards, into the empty air.

The headmaster whispered something to Draco's ear; unheard by any of the others. It took quite some time; yet gave off the impression that there was to be no interruption. Even Bellatrix paused: and as her patience ran out, there was a ruckus behind her.

The DA and the Order; they'd made their way to the tower, urgently fighting, trying to help. Alecto and Amycus raised a shield charm, deflecting the first few curses; though Fenrir was quickly, thankfully stunned.

The headmaster of Hogwarts eventually stepped back from the blonde; oddly solemn, taking a few steps back, until he was once more in front of the blonde's wand, and a step away from the edge of the tower.

It was worthy of a photo. Dumbledore, on the tip; Draco, wand outstretched, further in, paler than ever, eyes meeting the headmaster's in a mixture of awe and fear. And yet further in, the motionless Fenrir, and Snape, Alecto, Amycus, Rowle and Bellatrix duelling a combination of Order and DA members; Harry among them, right in the centre and flinging what curses he could at the hated, tangled hair, sadistic witch. Neville by his side; joining in with a surprising, uncharacteristic ferocity.

The Boy Who Lived looked up; looking straight at the blonde who stood, facing the solemn, seemingly resigned Dumbledore. Harry's eyes widened as he saw what was coming; shrieking 'No!' futilely.

Draco Malfoy blinked once, feeling time seem to stop; and in scarcely more than a whisper, yet with all the meaning needed, cast one spell. _"Avada Kedavra."_ A statement, not a command.

Green light; easily cutting through the air. The duellers behind the blonde all turned, all distracted by the sight as the killing curse struck an elderly man; a man whose face had turned, somehow, into a gentle smile.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore took one, last step back. And fell, strangely gracefully, from the great tower. Eyes closed on the journey down, hands to his side; Elder Wand clasped firmly.

O

By the Great Lake; the Death Eaters had fled much time ago, time running the course it should, with only minimal differences. Draco had not been seen since the day; he had fled with the rest of the Dark Wizards, next to Snape.

The funeral of Albus Dumbledore; the marble coffin rested on strangely tranquil grass, softly shining, much of the proceedings having already come to pass. Amy and the Doctor sat with the attendees, each profoundly moved.

In the Lake, with the choir of Mer-people, an odd creature could be seen; perhaps a fish, a sign of all the variable lives the headmaster had touched.

Quietly, the Doctor stood; this had been planned, and he was more than happy to do so. A eulogy, for the departed Dumbledore. It felt somehow right; even though the Doctor hadn't known the wonderful man for as long as the others, it might be accurate to say that he knew him best.

"Dumbledore," the Time Lord spoke, by the perfect marble. "What can I say about Albus Dumbledore? He was gentle, he was kind; he _cared_, like too few people. When I first met him, we agreed; on so much. On so many levels. But he was still happy to disagree, and on top of that, just as happy to admit he was wrong.

"He lived his own life, he was true to himself, and there is no better thing to say. When he smiled, he meant it; and when he shouted, oh-so-rarely, you weren't afraid, he didn't try to intimidate, he tried to help, to encourage. The teacher, bringing more intelligence, more brightness, more light into the world.

"Albus Dumbledore was human; no, he was more than that. I think- yes, I think I can quite honestly say, Albus was one of the best men ever to have walked on the face of this planet."

The Doctor did not say goodbye; it was not a greeting he believed in. He simply stepped down from the centre, and walked, slowly, away. Perhaps it was a tear in his eye; or perhaps it was simply the sunlight.

It was quite some time later, as the attendees to the funeral were wandering away, Amy brought herself to speak; rekindling the Doctor's inner, yet otherwise unseen invisible, tears.

"Take me back to Leadworth."

O

"You're sure about this?" the Doctor asked, quiet, soft, in the TARDIS. They'd landed in Amy's garden. The right time, the right place. For once.

"I-" the redhead nodded, once, resolute. And she turned, only slightly hesitant, walking along the TARDIS floor for what felt like the last time. And it should be.

Silence; even the wheezing of the engines seemed to have faded. It was just Amy's footsteps, on the grating, Step, step. She hesitated by the door, resting her hand on it. One step and she'd leave this life behind.

But she had to. It was...wrong. Too wrong; no one should have to see and live through that much tragedy. The redhead closed her eyes, swaying softly by the door. And, with one last thought of the now-lost Rory, she opened the door to the time machine.

"You know I might never come back," it was the Doctor; perhaps informative, perhaps one last plea for her to stay. It was hard to tell.

Silence; Amy did waver for a moment, looking out the open door; normalcy seemed strangely seductive, her own house, her garden, so familiar, and yet it had been so, so long since she last saw it.

"I know," Amy murmured; not even willing herself to turn around. And, with little intention of turning around, she took one, infinitely long, yet strangely easy, step out of the TARDIS.

The doors slowly closed, hiding the vibrant red hair, the companion; and the distant glow of fire on the horizon.

Silence. The Doctor stood there for a long, long time. "The girl who waited," he whispered, "Pond," a momentary smile; "Goodbye Amelia Pond."

The Time Lord turned to the console once more, moving back to his normal routine with strange ease. He reached out for one lever; and it descended itself, without even needing his touch. A familiar wheezing, groaning of TARDIS engines, leaving Amy Pond far behind as the blue box flew itself through the currents of time.

It wasn't long until it landed. The Doctor stood inside the machine for several seconds longer before, hesitant, walking towards the exit also; the TARDIS had brought him here, and he'd learnt from experience not to ignore her. But still… The Last of the Time Lords opened the doors; a dark forest, night, bare, cold trees. Why here?

One step out of the time machine; and a soft, white light shimmered in the air before him, circling for a moment. Featureless; a blur of light, perhaps there was some vague form, but it was too radiant to determine.

Slowly, it gracefully drifted through the air, through the trees; vague parts of it momentarily visible. Were those wings? Whatever the case, the Doctor followed, strangely memorized by the light. He slowly came to a stop, just by a campsite; an abandoned tent, and a few, ashen tree stumps.

The radiant creature faded; and the Doctor looked down, to where it had lead.

On the silent, undisturbed ground, lay three people; all pale, unmoving, expressions frozen in shock. Lifeless. One was a boy, with vibrant red hair. One was a girl, long brownish hair. And the last was another boy; with short black hair, and cracked glasses hanging askew. On his forehead was a lightning bolt scar.


End file.
